Call Day
by someonestolemyshoes49
Summary: If you could count down to the exact moment you would meet your soul mate, would you want to? In this age you don't have a choice. Elena Gilbert is a 17 year old girl on the run-up to her call day, but what will she think of her soul mate when he drags her into a world of vampires, werewolves, hybrids and witches? AU. M for possible content in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey hey hey! Here's another multi-chapter fic (I know, I shouldn't start another one, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone) based on a post I saw on Tumblr, which was based on a film. A film I have never seen. It's literally just the basic idea that I've taken. **

**Pairings; Mainly Delena. Some Klaroline, some Stefan/not sure who, some Jenna/Alaric. Be patient :P **

**Things to know: Damon, Stefan and Caroline are all human in this story. At least, they are to begin with. That might change. I don't know. I won't tell you about Klaus, because I haven't decided yet.**

**Summary: If you could count down to the exact moment you would meet your soul mate, would you want to? In this age you don't have a choice. Elena Gilbert is a 17 year old girl on the run up to her call day, but what will she think of her soul mate after fate throws a curve-ball that brings her world crumbling down around her? **

**Disclaimer; I own nothing you recognise.**

**Apologies for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes. And my attempt at writing in the 1st person narrative. Have fun, guys. **

My alarm clock wailed at 7am, a discontented garble of instruments and lyrics that moulded themselves, after a moment of confusion, into Pink's 'So What' blaring out into the bedroom. I slapped my hand on it and, after three failed attempts, caught a button that made the sound stop. The bedding was tangled around my legs and it took me a good minute to kick myself free before I stood and stretched my aching limbs.

I pushed my curtain open to reveal a world shrouded in grey; rain lashed my window and the wind, a different beast entirely, whipped through the trees sending the branches flailing this way and that. I shuddered and glanced at the inside of my wrist. 18d 02h 13m 52s. No need to make an effort today.

I checked my hair in the mirror; I was working with a two day post-wash, but I was in no mood for a full shower, so I tugged the chocolate locks into a high ponytail and left it at that. Light bags under my eyes negated that make-up was a necessity. I washed and dried my face, then rubbed on an easy layer of moisturiser and foundation and outlined my eyes in black, with a matching coat of mascara and a brown eye-shadow.

Teeth brushed by 7:09. I was on record time. I finished my make-over with a quick sweep of lip-gloss, then picked out a suitable outfit for the day. Rain and denim being a bad combo, I bypassed jeans and went for something that dries quicker; leggings. I eyed the window warily. Pumps and slip-ons were definitely a no-no, so boots it was. Army boots, to be exact. Not necessarily in style, but my favourite nonetheless. Definitely not an ideal mix with leggings. Still, I trudged on through my morning routine unphased. Bear in mind that hopping around my bedroom in leggings and a bra, while trying to force on an uncooperative shoe, is _not_ part of my normal pre-school activities. I collapsed onto the bed wearing only one boot and huffed out a breath; today was definitely not my day.

I made it downstairs at 7:45, after forcing on my second boot, then re-evaluating my chosen outfit twice and deciding I liked what I'd picked out in the first place. A jumper and scarf covered my previously bra-only clad torso.

"Morning, Elena." My mother called from the kitchen. I smiled my reply and hurried to the table where my bag hung over the arm of one chair. It was a typical morning in the Gilbert house. My mother stood in the kitchen preparing an array of breakfast foods that would, most likely, be left unconsumed until my brother came downstairs. Said brother was still in his room. My father was nowhere to be seen, presumably at work.

"Go and wake Jeremy, will you?" My mother asked, absently flipping bacon in the frying pan while scrolling through something on her phone. "The boy could sleep for America."

I laughed, because it was true, and jogged back upstairs. Jeremy's door was firmly shut, and with no sound passing from within, I could only assume that he was, in fact, still sleeping. So I, in typical big sister fashion, barged in guns blazing.

"Wake up wake up wake up!" I repeated the mantra as I yanked open the curtain, a move which might have had the desired affect if there had been a single ray of sun in the sky. Plan B: I pulled the bedclothes from him and dropped them to the floor, revealing a bleary-eyed fifteen year old boy, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers of which I seriously questions the cleanliness. He'd been wearing the same ones every morning this week. It was Thursday.

"Will you _please_ change those?" I said, exasperated and more than a little revolted.

"T's not like they have an expiry date." He retorted, sneering. The words were muffled by the pillow he'd pressed his face into.

"Well, they should." I replied. "Stop being gross and get up."

I didn't wait around to find out if he'd listened. I hurried back downstairs and picked up my bag, rummaging through and checking my basic artillery was there. Pens; check. Calculator; check. Homework planner; check. English texts; check. Biology, chemistry and history everything was already in my locker. Journal; no go.

"Crap." I whispered, shuffling items a few more times before deciding it definitely wasn't in my bag.

"What's up, honey?" Mom asked, eyeing me from the kitchen as she switched off the hob. The kitchen smelled strongly of breakfast foods, and the question as to who dictated what foods should be eaten and which points in the day crossed my mind unbidden, but only for a moment. More pressing matters than Hazel's breakfast-related existential dilemma.

"Nothing," I said, "I must have left my journal upstairs."

"'_Matt's been calling me again. I feel awful, but staying in that relationship was causing both of us too much heartache. He's my oldest friend, how could I do that to him?_'" Jeremy's mocking tone drifted in from the bottom of the stairs, my journal open in his hand, a smile on his face as he read the extract. I felt my cheeks heat and hurried forwards. I am, however, at a serious disadvantage. My baby brother has nearly a foot on me, and he held the journal above his head, where I couldn't reach it.

"Jeremy!" I screeched, but he continued to read, flipping the page to find the next entry. He paused, then, staring at something I'd written.

"It's Caroline's call day?" He asked. Guard down, I was able to snatch the book from his greedy little fingers. Sure enough, in the top corner of the page, I'd written the note _'12:54pm, call time. Caroline F.' _

"Oh, my God." I whispered, hand on cheek, staring at the scribble. I had completely forgotten. "We have to go. Now."

"I'm not dressed yet." Jeremy said. Helpful, baby bro. Helpful.

"Well hurry it up!"

"Who's call day is it?" My mother asked. I spun around and hurried to the kitchen.

"Caroline's." I replied. She smiled with a knowing look and sat down at the table, coffee mug in hand.

"I remember my call day." She said wistfully. She chuckled to herself. "I was so nervous."

"You know Caroline." I said, tugging the end of my ponytail over my shoulder. Nervous habit. "She'll be having a total freak-out."

My mother laughed again.

"It's nothing to worry about." She chuckled. I stared, dumbfounded.

"Nothing to worry about? It's only the most important day of her life." I reasoned. Another ponytail tug.

"How long have you got?" She asked. I glanced again at the inside of my wrist, then held it out for her to see. 18d 01h 16m 28s.

"Not long." She teased. I rolled my eyes. Major ponytail pull.

"Don't remind me."

She laughed at my expensed and knocked back some coffee. I slipped my journal into my bag; a brown satchel-style number with an array of pockets designed solely to lose small objects in.

Jeremy's call date fell late. He still had years to go on his clock. I had days. Caroline had a matter of hours.

He made his way downstairs at 8:02, and after giving mom a kiss on the cheek, I dragged him from the house and out to my car. I'll admit, I drove a little recklessly.

We arrived at school at 8:30 on the dot, me all but launching myself from the car. Jeremy said a hasty goodbye and retreated quickly, doubling back around the edge of the yard, towards the back of the school. Stoner bit. While my brother doesn't touch drugs, his somewhat-girlfriend does. She's sixteen; I really don't understand. I shook my head at his retreating form and locked the car before hurrying inside, head bowed against the torrent of wind and rain.

My row of lockers was absent its corresponding students, and I wrestled my English texts in, removing my biology textbook and file for first and second period. Break fell between second and third. Then lunch. Caroline was to decide where to go today.

I slammed my locker shut and hurried through the halls until I reached my homeroom; History 1:01. Alaric Saltzman's room.

I knew she was there before I saw her.

Panicky Caroline Forbes is a sight to behold. I've never met another woman who can, quite literally, bawl like a baby and still come out of it looking flawless. I jogged the distance between the door and the back of the classroom where she sat, hopping onto a desk opposite my clearly distressed friend.

"How you holding up?" I asked. Stupid question, I'm aware.

"Terrible." She replied. It really was a redundant statement. "My hair wouldn't straighten properly, I couldn't find the shirt I wanted to wear, I can't decide where to go for lunch and I think I missed a patch on my leg while I was shaving." She wailed, burying her face in her hands. I glanced to Bonnie, best friend #2, who had a look on her face that clearly expressed the sentiment '_I've tried, it's your turn.'_

"It's okay." I cooed lamely. "I'm sure you'll think of somewhere to go. My mom said she didn't know what she was doing right up until the last minute, and she turned out okay."

Caroline let out another lamenting wail. Bonnie shook her head.

"Get it together, Care." She said. "You don't wanna be a blubbering mess when everybody else gets here, do you?"

At this Caroline wiped her cheeks delicately and sniffed haughtily. Bonnie was right, Caroline wouldn't want the whole class seeing her like this. She sniffled daintily, then flattened her hair from root to tip.

"For the record," I said, squeezing her shaking hand, "I think your hair looks perfect."

Caroline offered a grin, but it fell slowly as she took in my haphazard ponytail with wary eyes.

"Thanks." She said anyway, then pulled out a compact to check her appearance herself. It was clear, then, that I wasn't a suitable judge. I rolled my eyes. _Not my day to dress up anyway, _I thought, grumbling.

The bell sounded a couple of minutes later, and students began to file in through the door. Some of them, mainly the cheerleader types, eyed Caroline with gazes that ranged from sympathetic to amused to terrified. They knew it was her day.

Mr Saltzman came in a moment later, papers under one arm, travel mug in hand.

"Morning class." He called.

All present mumbled some kind of incoherent reply. All except Caroline, whose mouth was pressed firmly shut. Mr Saltzman booted up a centuries old computer on his desk, and we all waited quietly for it to load. Usually the classroom clamoured with gossip, but today's topic sat stock still in the corner, and it was an unspoken rule amongst Mystic Falls High School students that gossip is not to be shared with its subject.

"How is everybody this morning then?" Mr Saltzman asked. Alaric Saltzman; king of awkward conversation starters. At his words, Caroline let out a whimper, and all eyes shifted her way. Bonnie wrapped an arm around our friend.

"It's her call day." I supplied in an unnecessary stage-whisper, rubbing Caroline's shoulder. A chorus of 'ooooh's came from the jocks corner of the room, and I observed several of them checking their own wrists. Nobody came up lucky.

"Alaric coughed to clear his throat, and offered her a;

"Well, uh, good luck."

I caught his eyes shooting down to his own wrist, and I noticed the numbers illuminated in the skin. Huh. Mr Saltzman fell late, too.

Caroline replied to his comment with a quiet 'thanks', and the room fell into an awkward silence once more.

First period came and passed quickly, as did second, and break, and third, and before we knew it Bonnie and I were waiting by Caroline's locker, wondering if she could possibly be more nervous than we were. We were answered soon enough when Caroline came hurtling down the corridor, shoving items into her locker with shaky hands. She checked herself over in the mirror once more, but I really didn't understand why.

Caroline Forbes is just one of those lucky girls who doesn't have to make an effort to look good. She rarely wears make-up, bar a little mascara here and there, and her long blonde hair always falls just right across her shoulders. She's slim, with the right curves in the right places, and a winning smile. She worries for nothing.

"Hilda's." She said. "Let's eat at Hilda's."

**A/N: Soooo? What does everybody think? Let me know and I'll post the next chapter as soon as I can. **

**More information will be revealed in later chapters. I might post chapter 2 sooner, if I get more reviews ;) **

**After all, feedback = motivation!**

**Aaaalso! To those of you reading The Shifters; I promise I am working on the next chapter. My brain is really fuzzy at the minute. I'll blame it on exam stress, but really I think my head is just a bit too full of thoughts and ideas and I'm having trouble sorting them. But yes, a new chapter will be coming soon. It might not be in the next week though, because I need to get my exams out the way first. **

**Thanks in advance! **

**Much love, **

**Someone x **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey guys! I'm so glad some people have taken an interest in this. To be honest, it was just an idea that wouldn't leave me alone, and I figured I would put it up anyway. **

**In reply to Nikki: The movie is called TiMER, I think. And I'm very glad you like the story! :) **

**Disclaimer; I own nothing you recognise. Nothing mentioned in this belongs to me. Sadly. **

**Apologies for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes. **

Hilda's is a small cafe around the corner from the Mystic Grill, our local bar and restaurant. It's a quiet, homely little spot with few patrons, besides ourselves and any tourists passing though. It's décor is heavily weighted towards comfort over aesthetics. We entered the cafe at 12:34pm, Bonnie and I ordering our usual. Caroline ordered a bottle of water. Our waitress, a twenty-something blonde bombshell named Anne, gave Caroline a strange look, but didn't argue. She promised us our food in five minutes, then bustled away to wait on another table. Hilda's was busier than usual, especially in the spring, and Caroline nervously scanned the crowd. He was in that throng, somewhere.

Our orders arrived at 12:45. Anne apologised for the delay, reminding us just how busy they were. Bonnie and I tucked in to our food while Caroline sipped nervously at her water. Nobody had the courage to speak.

12:50. Caroline was getting antsy, shuffling in her seat and flattening her hair. She began chewing on one nail, then scolded herself for it and dropped both hands to her lap. Bonnie and I exchanged glances. Caroline gazed at the inside of her wrist.

"How long?" I asked.

"Three minutes, fourteen seconds." She said, voice thick. She was almost deathly pale, now, her fingers clenching together in her lap. Her bright eyes were wide with apprehension. We said nothing more.

And then Caroline was on her feet. Bonnie stood, too, holding a hand out to our friend. I checked my watch, doing a bit of fast mental math. 13 seconds.

"I can't do this." Caroline said. She dropped some change on the table and made a beeline for the door before we had a chance to stop her. Again, Bonnie and I glanced to one another. _What happens if someone bails out on their call day?_ I thought.

"Oh! I'm so sorry." Caroline's voice rang out from the door. I turned her way and saw her standing with one hand on her temple, the other holding a young man, perhaps nineteen or twenty years old, by the elbow. It was evident they'd bumped into one another. Caroline glanced down at her wrist, then up at the man. He mimicked the action, then met Caroline's eyes and with an easy confidence said;

"I'm Klaus." He held out a hand to her. I threw some notes down on the table, leaving my ham-salad sandwich half-eaten, and hurried across the room under the guise of checking on my friend. Bonnie followed suit. When I got close enough I searched the man's wrist as discretely as I could. 00d 00h 00m 00s.

"I'm Caroline." She replied shyly, shaking the proffered hand and smiling. Bonnie and I grinned at one another.

I'd never seen a call day go down before, and I'll admit I had a tear in my eye as I watched the two converse. Beside me, Bonnie was beaming. Caroline had been dreading this day for as long as we could remember, and in steps this man, with his gentle eyes and smooth accent, and turns her whole demeanour upside down.

We gave them time to exchange phone numbers before dragging Caroline out to the car. I offered Klaus a wave as I passed, and he returned it, but that ease in his eyes had gone. Apparently that look was reserved only for Caroline.

Caroline gushed the entire car ride back to school. I felt myself growing nervous, now. My call day was only eighteen days away. I found myself hoping for an easy-on-the-eyes stranger as well, but wondered if I could possibly get that lucky.

"It's really nothing to worry about." Caroline said to me as we walked back up to school. I raised my brows at her. The wind and rain from the morning had yet to let up, and I pulled the hood of my coat tighter around my head. She rolled her eyes at me.

"I know, I know. I panicked. But really, it was okay. Great, actually."

"At least you get it over with soon." Bonnie grumbled, shaking the rain water from her umbrella when we reached the overhand at the school's main entrance. "I have years to wait."

I caught myself wishing that I had years to wait, too.

The rest of the school day dragged by. Caroline talked relentlessly about Klaus, while Bonnie and I were forced to listen to every word. Not that we really minded. I was just worried thinking about my own call day.

By the time I arrived home, I felt physically sick. I threw myself down on the couch and curled up in the fetal position, staring blankly into the fire. My father wandered in from the kitchen, wearing sweats and an old, grubby 'Queen Is Dead' T-shirt. He'd been working the night shift at the hospital. And he didn't own pyjama's. This was, I hope, improvised sleepwear. I didn't want to dwell on the fact that no pyjamas meant no anything.

He raised his brows at me with a piece of toast wedged between his teeth, the paper in one hand, and a coffee in the other. I watched him as he crossed the room and sat on the table, obscuring my view of the flames in the hearth.

"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours, princess?" He asked, chewing on his toast. At any other time I would have laughed; his hair stuck out at odd angles, glasses slightly askew across his face, and he had a smudge of jam on one cheek. But I was far too stressed for laughter.

"It was Caroline's call day." I said. Dad raised his brows. When I remained silent, he said;

"I don't see the issue."

"It was perfect!" I exploded, launching upright and tugging on the tips of my ponytail. Dad watched me for a moment. I groaned. "This is horrible." I said, hoping he would understand.

"Elaborate, please."

Clearly, he _didn't_ understand.

"What if mine sucks? Whatever whoever I meet is horrible?"

My father rolled his eyes, biting into his toast once more. He smeared a matching line of jam across his other cheek. How this man is a doctor, I do not know.

"You're a good girl," He reasoned gently, "You deserve every happiness anyone could get in life. You'll meet the perfect guy and you'll fall in love and you'll live happily ever after, and you'll wonder what the hell you've been worrying about all this time."

I gave him a look that clearly displayed my scepticism. He rolled his eyes at me.

"Honey, there's no use worrying about it." He said. "It's decided. There's nothing you can do to change it."

And with that, he patted my leg and took his seat in the arm chair, spreading the paper across his lap. I opened my mouth to warn him about his jam make-over, but decided mom could do it when she got home.

In my room, I pulled my journal from my bag and lay it open on my lap.

'_A call day is arguably the most important day in any humans lifetime' _I wrote, _'It's the day when you're destined to meet your soul mate. It's counted down on these little timers on the inside of your wrist; they display the exact number of years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds, until the person you'll spend forever with walks into your life. I'm sure you can understand what all the hype is about._

'_I hope you understand, better than dad at least, why this is so stressful. What if he's awful? Everybody has a call date, so the horrible people have to be destined for somebody. What if that somebody is me?' _

I stopped writing, then, and dropped my pen against the pages. Maybe dad was right. There was nothing I could do to change it, everything was decided. I just had to roll with the punches and take whatever (on in this case, whoever) the universe has to throw at me.

I was ploughing my way through an English essay when a text from Caroline sent my phone sailing straight into the chorus of '_Sweet and Tender Hooligan'_. Yes, my dad and I are hardcore Smiths fans. I'm not ashamed of that fact.

The aforementioned text told me how amazing Klaus was (yet again) and how lucky she was to have found the perfect soul mate. I snorted; second redundant statement of the day. Plus, it had nothing to do with luck. These damn timers are an incredibly stressful evolutionary trait, designed to ensure the survival of the species in a way that won't stress the world's resources. As in, to keep the population going without over-populating. These timer's meant that there was one person out there for everybody, and no matter how much you tried to fight it, you'd be stuck with them forever. Fate is funny like that.

Still, in the interest of best-friendship, I sent her a very girly reply with a bunch of kisses strewn on the end, and my sincerest insincere congratulations. I'll admit I was a little bitter.

That text sent me on another worry-tangent. So, to quell my panic, I pulled out my copy of 'The Fault In Our Stars', turned up my 'Louder than Bombs' CD, and thanked the heavens that I didn't have as much suffering as the characters in the book and the people Morrissey wailed about.

I admit, I skipped a few pages to find out if Hazel ever did find an answer to her breakfast-related existential dilemma.

**A/N: End of chapter 2! Drop me a review and let me know what you thought guys :) **

**Thanks in advance! **

**Much love, **

**Someone x **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hi guys! Once again, thank you so much for the reviews and the follows and favourites and stuff. You're wonderful. **

**Sorry this chapter is short. It's just a filler chapter really, but fear not, the next two chapters are already written and will be published shortly :) **

**Disclaimer; Nothing is mine. I literally own nothing. Nothing important, anyway. And nothing you'll find in this story. Except maybe a couple of Smiths albums. **

**Apologies for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes. **

The next two weeks passed by in a blur of mock exams, pop quizzes, returned papers and best friend-related dramas.

Caroline had yet to quit talking about Klaus. I guess we should be supportive, but honestly, Caroline-trouble on top of school work and home work and, in Bonnie's case, work-work, was just too much. So we took to nodding and smiling over our books, and offering the odd 'yes' and 'ooh' and 'aww' when silence stretched on for too long.

Exams were closing in fast – it was already May, and my first exam was June 16th; Biology. Full steam ahead in the revision department. I was so busy, I didn't really notice the little numbers ticking away on the inside of my wrist.

Before I knew it, my call day was looming less than twenty-four hours away.

Over a desperate phone-call, Bonnie reassured me that it was better to get it over with now, than have to wait years. I wasn't convinced. Caroline spent the whole time reminding me how well her call day went, and how lucky she was to have met such an amazing guy. Again, I wasn't at all consoled.

They offered to stay over and help me get ready in the morning, but I politely refused. I wanted to do this on my own.

Sunday passed painstakingly slowly. I tried everything to distract myself, but the clocks just weren't working with me on this one, and every time I glanced at the hands they mocked me with stillness. I reached breaking point when I spent a whole minute watching the hands move, just to reassure myself that time hadn't actually stopped on me.

I wasted a good hour listing interesting facts about myself. I needed something to talk about when my call time came, after all. By the time the hour was up, my list had a title and a couple of doodles down one side. Impressive. If push came to shove, I'd be able to show him my mediocre flower-drawing skills. Better than nothing, I guess.

I didn't even know I'd fallen asleep until I was woken up.

"Elena, wake up." My mother roused me from my deep and somewhat restful nap, shaking my shoulders gently. "Dinners ready." She said. I looked to the clock to see the time 7:08pm displayed on its face. I glanced at my wrist. 00d 14h 05m 19s. Holy shit.

"I'm not hungry." I said immediately. Mom shot me a questioning glance.

"You're never not hungry." She said, as though the prospect itself was completely ludicrous. I held my wrist out for her to see. She took in the numbers and grinned.

"Eat your dinner."

I forced down a couple of mouthfuls, but my stomach felt too full, and I was very conscious of the three day post-wash my hair was functioning on, and the fact that my legs needed shaving, and that I had a sensitive area on my chin that might just be a spot pushing through, and I immediately excused myself to shower.

I have never scrubbed quite so vigorously in all my life. I came out with a red tinge to my skin; a result of the scolding shower water. Or the scrubbing brush. I really don't know which.

I moisturised my freshly shaven legs, then moisturised everywhere else as an afterthought. Then I rubbed some spot cream on that sensitive patch on my chin. Beat the son of a bitch to the draw. I debated blow-drying my hair, but decided that I'd leave it natural. I picked out my clothes for the next day, settling on a pair of black skinny jeans, a tight-fitting, low-cut v-neck that showed off all the right curves in all the right places, and a leather jacket with the sleeves pinched near the shoulder. Army boots completed the ensemble, because they were comfortable and familiar and that's how I needed to feel tomorrow. Caroline would _not _be proud. I could care less. My morning routine now drastically shortened, I set my alarm for 7:30am. I could afford a lie-in.

By the time I finished sorting my outfit, laying out my make-up, finishing the last minute chemistry paper I found wedged in my file, and panicking, it was after midnight. I told myself I should sleep.

Naturally, I didn't.

Not until 4am, when my wrist told me I only had 05h 12m 57s until call time.

**A/N: Next up; Elena's call day. Stick around, I'll probably put it up tomorrow or Thursday. You might have to wait a little longer for chapter 5, because I want to get chapter 6 and possibly 7 done before I put it up. Just so I don't fall behind. Like I have on The Shifters. I'm sorry about that. **

**Anyways, please please please leave me a review and let me know what you think! Any thoughts or predictions about Elena's call day? I'll give special internet hugs to anybody who guesses right. I imagine a lot of you will.**

**Is everybody excited to see Damon? I know I am. **

**Thanks in advance. **

**Much love, **

**Someone x **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hi guys! Okay, here's the deal. I'm really anxious to get this chapter up, so I'm putting it up tonight. But you might have to bear with me for the next couple. I've already written chapter 5 and I've almost done chapter 6, but I'd like to have chapter 7 done before I put chapter 5 up, just to stay ahead. So, while this is going up today, chapter 5 might not be up until Friday. It won't be too long, don't worry ;) **

**Reply to my Guest reviews; **

**Mariah: I'm glad you're enjoying it! I didn't think anyone would fancy the idea at all haha! **

**Sam: Thank you! I know, I tried writing her like she's normally portrayed, but it just didn't feel right for the life of a teenager. No 17 year old is neat and tidy, we all have our little quirks that make us who we are. Elena is no different! **

**Nikki: Is the movie any good? I've been wondering if it's worth watching haha. Thaaaank you lovely :) Glad you liked the way I did Elena. I just felt that she needed a bit...more, you know? I'm so glad you like this one so much XD I'll try and keep the updates as regular as I can :P **

**So yes, Elena's Call Day! I hope you like it. It might/might not be what you're expecting. **

**Disclaimer; I own nothing. Still. **

**Apologies for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes. **

7:30 arrived far too quickly for my liking.

My alarm clock once again struggled to blast out the altogether too cheery tune, finally managing to separate the lyrics from the instruments somewhere near the chorus. I wrestled myself out from under my bed sheets, rushing to the mirror. My hair wasn't the rats nest I'd expected it to be. Instead, it tumbled over my shoulders in neat curls that reached the back-strap of my bra. Sweet. Moisturising had done wonders; the skin on my face glowed, and even with my severe lack of sleep, there were no bags in sight. I put my foundation away with a happy sigh.

I gave myself a quick wash over in the sink, double-checked my appearance in the mirror, then headed back to my room to dress.

Skinny jeans are not conducive to sleepless nights and early mornings. And skinny is an _incredibly_ accurate description.

I spent a good ten minutes yanking to get the damn things up my thighs, then fought with the button and stiff zipper for another minute or two before they were finally in place and fastened. Once more I was left hopping around my room in nothing but pants and a bra, forcing on my army boots. I swear, they do fit like a glove. Once I get them on. I pulled on my top and jacket after checking I'd remembered to put on deodorant. I put more on, just in case.

Final task; brush my teeth. I did, and I was shoving items in my satchel by 8:15. Shit.

I flew downstairs, pausing in the kitchen. The smell of bacon and eggs lingered, and mom and dad were finishing their coffee, both dressed and ready for the day. Jeremy was nowhere to be seen.

"Sleep in?" My mother asked, slipping on a black trench coat and fastening it around her slim waist. I nodded my lie. Clearly, I had underestimated just how long it would take me to get ready.

"Jeremy's friend Vikki picked him up a few minutes ago." Dad supplied at my questioning glance. I nodded. Swallowed. I kept my opinions on them letting their son be driven to school by his sixteen year old stoner semi-girlfriend firmly to myself.

"You okay, sweetie?" My mother asked. I saw her eyes dart to my wrist, and tugged the sleeve of my jacket down to cover my timer. Less than one hour to go.

"I'm fine." I breathed. Mom and dad exchanged glances.

"Want a lift in to school?" Dad asked. I debated shaking my head, set to drive, when something told me that a lift with mom and dad was a very good idea. Intuition, maybe? I don't know. Anyway, I said yes.

Our house is a little out the way. We live in a single house surrounded by lush grass, meeting trees at three out of four sides. It opens out onto a road that goes for two miles before it reaches civilisation.

We got about half way there before disaster struck.

The weather had been stormy for weeks, and this morning was no different. Rain pattered angrily against the windshield, obscuring dads view of the road as he drove, and a vicious wind pushed the car from one side, edging us closer to the edge of the road. Even driving slowly, we couldn't have avoided it.

I don't really know what happened, but it involved a lot of spinning, a lot of noise, a lot of pain and an awful lot of blood.

When everything stilled I was upside down, my neck bent forwards with my chin on my chest and the back of my head pressing into the roof of the car. Blood pooled around me, and I knew from the sheer volume that it couldn't all be mine. My chest hurt monumental amounts and breathing was a challenge. Still, I dragged in enough oxygen to hold the dizziness at bay.

"Mom?" I called out, my voice choked. Rain water was pouring in through my smashed window, dampening my face. I could taste blood running into my mouth and down my throat. "Mom?" I tried again. No reply. Not even a groan.

"Dad?" Nothing. I tried undoing my seatbelt, but the seat beside me had dropped forward and caved in, obscuring the catch from view. I stretched my hand out as far as I could, feeling for it, but found nothing. Except blood. A lot of blood.

"Daddy!" I cried. The car gave an ominous creak and I felt the pressure on my neck increasing. It hit me that my side of the car might follow suit any second now and collapse on me. My neck would snap in seconds.

With that thought in mind I began to cry.

I have no idea how long I sat there, trying to stem the flow of tears and calm my sobs. My whole body was hurting more and more by the second. My legs were aching, trapped in place by the back of the front passenger seat, and my neck was screaming in protest.

I lifted my wrist to my face and squinted at the numbers. 00d 00h 04m 32s. It hit me how petty I was, still worrying about the countdown on my forearm when I was trapped and, for all I knew, dying in the overturned back seat of a car, my parents unresponsive in front of me. I could see smashed glass from the windshield between the front seats. I could see an awful lot of crushed metal. I could see nothing of my parents underneath it all. The car gave another groan and I felt it shift, but it didn't fail me yet.

Another wrist check. 02m 09s. My heart ratcheted up a notch. I was going to die here, and whoever I was supposed to meet in two minutes and – five seconds now – would be standing alone, wondering where the hell I was. I wondered briefly if he would feel it. Would he know that something had happened? If I died now, would his timer just...stop? Would he be stuck forever with 01m 38s plastered on his wrist, always so close and always so far? Would he feel pain at my loss without even knowing me? Would he care?

00m 59s. My heart pounded angrily. My temples throbbed. Chest ached. I wondered how much of it was nerves and worry, and how much of it was trauma. How much of it was dying.

38s. 37. 36.

The metal creaked again, and more water filtered in through the window. My head felt too heavy, too full from being upside down for so long. My hair was caked in blood and water and dirt, and chunks of broken glass clung to it. It made me feel sick, knowing that so much of this blood wasn't mine.

05. 04. 03.

"Shit!"

A voice called from outside the car. I froze, then did the only thing I could. Screamed.

"Oh God!" I cried, letting more tears pour from my eyes. "Please, help me!"

01.

00d 00h 00m 00s.

A face peered in through my window, kneeling in the grungy puddle of blood and dirty rain water.

"You okay in there?" He asked. His voice was soft and smooth and it made me feel calm. He glanced down at his wrist, then up at me, and stared with wide eyes of the most beautiful blue. His black hair fell across his forehead and he gazed at me through heavy lashes.

"It's alright." He soothed, checking the state of the car. He took in the angle of my neck, the position of my legs, the tears still flowing from my eyes. "It's alright." He repeated in a whisper.

And then he was gone. I could hear him nearby, speaking quickly and succinctly.

"Yeah, I've got an overturned car here, one passenger in the back seat conscious. I can't see the front, it's completely crushed."

I wailed at that, knowing the implication. He came back to my window, still on the phone. I heard him give an approximate location, say a hurried thank you, then hang up.

"Get me out." I whimpered. My head hurt. He gave me a look that conveyed how sorry he was when he said;

"I can't. I have to wait for the emergency services to get here, the car's too fragile."

I cried again. He reached through the window and circled his hand around my wrist, thumb brushing over the fading zeroes.

"Not the best of circumstances." He said, offering a small smile. I tried to return it. I imagine it looked more like a grimace.

"What's your name?" He asked me suddenly, and I knew he was trying to keep me occupied.

"Elena. Gilbert."

"I'm Damon." He said gently. "Salvatore." The surname popped out, as an afterthought, I assumed. I nodded. Right now I didn't much care who he was. I wanted out of this car. I wanted the ambulance to come and help my mother and father. I wanted to start the day again. If I could, I would begin again last night, and set my alarm for 7:00. That way I wouldn't have been late. I would have left on time and driven Jeremy to school, like every morning. Then mom and dad would have left the house at 8:30 instead of 8:15, like they're supposed to, and they wouldn't have been out at the exact moment we crashed the car, and everything would have been okay.

I would have changed my outfit. I might have chosen pumps or sneakers instead of my army boots. I might have worn a skirt or dress instead of jeans. I might have blow dried my hair and tied it in a messy bun. That way it wouldn't be catching so much blood from the roof of the car.

I heard the sirens then, wailing as the vehicles hurried down the road. I heard doors slam, and Damon shouted out to them, and everything beyond that is a blur.

I remember it hurt when they finally pulled me from the car. I remember them wrapping me in a foil blanket and sitting me in the back of an ambulance, a young paramedic assessing my injuries. I remember them slipping a collar on my neck. I remember them saying I needed to go to the hospital because my leg was broken, and my ribs were crushed. I remember not giving a damn.

I remember seeing the rest of the car for the first time. Damon had been right, the front was completely crushed. Blood pooled under the overturned vehicle, and I saw firemen and paramedics and policemen shaking their heads at one another; there was no way my parents were alive under all of that.

I remember Damon coming up beside me, blood caking his clothes. A smear ran across one cheek where he'd rubbed his face, and it made me think of dad with the smudges of jam and I cried again. He looked so broken for me, and it was beautiful, and I thanked the universe for sending him when they had.

And then I passed out, and all I remember is black.

**A/N: There you go! Sorry it's a bit sad, but I'm sure you all expected it. Right? And remember, things always get worse before they get better. Just keep that in mind :P **

**Anyways, leave me a review and let me know what you thought! I love hearing your feedback XD **

**Thanks in advance! **

**Much love, **

**Someone x **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey all! Thank you so much for the reviews and follows and favourites and all that jazz, I appreciate it more than you know. **

**Good news! I did my first exam today, and I only have two to do. Next one is on Monday, then I'm home-free. For a little while. So I should be writing more in that period. Meaning...regular updates! I hope. **

**Here's the alternate chapter 5; since a lot of you weren't happy with the last one. Which is understandable, I guess. I really hope it didn't totally kill your faith in me though! **

**Disclaimer; As much as I wish I did, I do not own The Vampire Diaries. Imagine if I did, Jesus. I wouldn't even watch it. **

**Apologies for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes. **

It was dark when I woke up.

I was in a room that wasn't my room. My ancient alarm clock wasn't beside my bed where it should have been, and my covers were rough and scratchy where they never had been before.

And everything hurt.

It took me a moment to remember what had happened, and when I did, the tears came in floods and sobs made my chest rattle painfully. I choked, and tasted blood at the back of my throat, and noticed for the first time that I wasn't supposed to be breathing for myself. A tube ran down my throat, pumping and filtering air into my lungs.

"Take it easier, dear." A woman's voice said. I turned to see a short, black nurse with a friendly face and wild hair, with which she'd fashioned a bun in an attempt to tame it. Still, curled and frizzy strands stood out at her temples. She smiled down at me, and took my blood pressure. I stared up at her with wide eyes, and tensed my throat to speak. I felt pressure build around the tube and tasted more blood.

"I'll go get your doctor, we'll take this out." She said, gesturing to the tube. I nodded, a little vigorously. My neck gave a twinge in protest. "Rest yourself, now."

I did as told, relaxing and letting the tube feed me air. I felt my lungs swell and deflate in a steady rhythm. Said rhythm made my ribs shift painfully. I closed my eyes against the headache building behind them, and the beep of my heart monitor was sending me back into a dreamless equivalent of dream-land, when the door burst open and two familiar faces rushed in.

Jeremy was deathly pale, with dark bags under both eyes. His hair was tousled and his clothes were scruffy. And beside him, my aunt Jenna.

Aunt Jenna is my mother's sister. My late mother's sister. The thought sent a pang straight to my heart, but I was too shocked to cry again. Jenna whimpered when she took in my appearance, and she hurried to my side, grasping my hand tightly in hers. Tears fled from her eyes, pouring down her cheeks. I didn't have the heart to tell her she was hurting me, and the tube prevented me from even trying, so I just held her gaze and squeezed back.

And then the doctor was in the room, ushering Jenna and Jeremy to one side. He came over and double-checked my blood pressure, heart rate, and some other things that I didn't really understand, then proceeded to remove the damn tube.

Worst. Experience. Ever.

I was retching the minute he began pulling it out. Feeling the plastic scrape against the back of my throat was enough to trigger a killer gag reflex. One I'm certain I'd never really had until then, thank you very much. Still, my eyes watered and my stomach muscles clenched angrily, my whole being protesting to the foreign object being tugged up from my throat.

"There we go." The doctor said finally. I swallowed hard and tried to catch my breath. It hurt like a bitch. Jenna came back to the bedside and dropped into a seat. Thankfully, she didn't re-take my hand in hers.

"A little blood is nothing to worry about." The nurse supplied, gesturing to the horrible concoction of mucus, saliva and blood coating the tube. I nearly gagged again. Jesus, what is with this damn gag reflex?

Anyway, according to Doctor Who there, I had been out of it for three days. Hence the tube; brain damage can result in a 'depressed level of consciousness'. Whatever that means. Either way, I thought it was unfair to shove a pipe down my neck. He had a long list of injuries for me to take in, too. Concussion. Whiplash. Hairline fracture to my collar bone. Broken ribs. Radiating fractures on my right leg, just below the knee. Where my mother's seat had trapped me in. Stitches in my cheek to close a cut I hadn't even known I'd had. Cuts and lacerations to both hands, from being pressed into the broken glass on the car roof. In short, I was a walking bruise. A walking bruise with a million other problems to deal with.

The doctor offered me pain medication, which I accepted willingly, but had to wait to take because a police woman wanted to talk to me. I agreed. I didn't really have a choice.

She sat down beside me and told me gently that my parents hadn't made it. Jenna cried again. Jeremy gritted his teeth. I told her I knew, that I remembered. She didn't look all that surprised, and I found myself angry that she'd chose to tell me again if she suspected I already knew. It was rubbing salt in the wound, really. She asked if I knew what had caused the crash. I said no. She left.

And then the door opened again, and a blue eyed not-so-stranger stepped in cautiously. I was happy to see him, honestly, I was. But it was a hard sentiment to express. He'd saved my life, I owed him my happiness, but I could hardly bring myself to so much as smile.

"Hi." I said gently. My voice was still hoarse, and Damon winced at the sound of it.

"Hi." He replied. Jenna looked a question back and forth between us.

"It was my call day." I supplied. Jenna gasped lightly, gazing down at my wrist. Bandages obscured it, but I knew that no numbers lit up the skin beneath them. I turned my gaze to Damon. He held out his arm to Jenna as evidence, and she smiled through her tears.

"At least something good came of this mess." She said. I nodded. Jenna swiped at her cheeks.

And I cried. Again.

"It's all my fault." I whispered. All eyes turned on me.

"No." Jenna cooed gently, stroking my hair back from my face. "No, honey, it was an accident. These things happen."

I shook my head at her.

"If I-I hadn't slept in, if I'd gotten up and driven myself they wouldn't have been out there! If I-."

"Elena," Damon croaked, "there's nothing you could have done."

I wanted to believe that, oh-so badly, but I couldn't help but think that all of this was my fault. From the moment I was born, those little numbers had been ticking down to that minute, that split second in which Damon found me upside down, coated in blood that wasn't mine in a world that seemed far too cruel for people to exist in. He was the one ray of hope I could possibly ask for.

I looked up at him with big brown eyes. My chest was tight and my eyes stung and yes, I did cry again. That really shouldn't be a surprise by now.

But this time, when I felt a hand take my own, it was a soft touch, with fingers grazing over my bandages. His thumb brushed over the inside of my wrist where my numbers used to lie, and he whispered something gentle in my ear. To this day I don't know what it was, but he made me feel calm and collected and I thanked the heavens for sending _him_ to me.

"It's okay." He whispered. I nodded, but it wasn't okay. Still, hearing him say it made it feel just a little more real, and I wanted more than anything to believe him.

It was then that my doctor brushed in, informing myself and the other occupants in the room that, being under strict observation, my visitors were of the blood-relation variety, with zero waver-space. Damon nodded in understanding and stood, glancing down at me.

"I'm okay." I croaked without prompt, dashing tears from my cheeks. Damon squeezed my wrist gently, but didn't say anything. I lifted my gaze and met startling blue eyes, peering at me from beneath frowning brows.

"No, you're not." He stated. He leaned over the bed and pressed a kiss to my temple. "But you will be."

**A/N: There you go! **

**I am so sorry that I ruined this with the last chapter. I really didn't mean to, that's just what felt right in my head. Still, it's not for me to read and enjoy, it's for you. And I hope this ending was better than the last. **

**I really do feel awful for killing the story for some of you. **

**Thanks to those who enjoyed, and to everyone else who told me honestly what they thought! **

**Do the same again. Just let me know if it was okay or not! **

**Thanks in advance.**

**Much love, **

**Someone x**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hey hey hey! Sorry it's been such a long time, guys! I had exams and stuff, then I finished those and had course work, then I have no real excuse apart from being lazy. **

**So, here's chapter 6 for you. Not much to say about it haha. **

**Disclaimer; I own nothingggggg you recognise. **

**Apologies for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes. **

I spent a week under strict observation in the hospital, meaning Jenna and Jeremy's visiting times were severely restricted, and nobody else was allowed in. Family only. Not that I minded. I was enjoying the time to myself while I had it.

Aunt Jenna was trying, she really was. But the thing is, Jenna is only 29 and, with no kids of her own, the entire concept of being a parent figure (let alone to two teenagers) is terrifying for her. Hell, I wouldn't even know where to begin with a teenage kid, and I am one. She was walking on eggshells around Jeremy and I, afraid to say the wrong thing, hit the wrong nerve. I was trying, too. Jeremy, however, was being incredibly uncooperative.

He was spending an awful lot of his time, when he wasn't visiting me, with Vikki and her friends. I was worried. The last thing we needed right now was my fifteen year old brother developing a hard-drug problem.

Three days after I'd woken up, I'd been pawned off on another doctor; this one was female. She was pretty and slim, with dark brown hair and a bright smile. I liked her. She told me I was allowed to call her Meredith, but it felt...wrong, somehow. Dr Fell would do for now.

Dr Fell encouraged me to talk to a psychologist, or a psychiatrist, or a councillor, or something to that respect. She said it would help me get back on my feet, emotionally speaking. Which sounds like bull, but hey-ho.

My psychiatrist is a douche.

I can't think of a politer way to put it. She agreed to come by three times a week for an hour and talk to me about what happened, asking me what I remember, and if I'm sad, and if I really wanted to talk about it. It takes a lot of tongue-biting to hold back the snide remarks. If I didn't want to talk about it, she wouldn't be here, that's all I'm saying.

After that week I was moved into my own room, and visiting hours were blown wide open for my family. Jenna and Jeremy could be with me around the clock, and friends were allowed in under the hospitals designated times.

Caroline and Bonnie came the next day.

"Hey, sweetie." Caroline began, smiling softly at me. I offered a shaky smile back, tugging the ends of my ponytail over my shoulder. My ponytail holding back what I'm pretty sure was a slab of grease, buy now. Not a good look. Caroline made no comment. She and Bonnie watched me as they approached the bed, and I fought back the sudden onslaught of emotion. They knew. Everyone in Mystic Falls knew. I was one big pity party.

The encircled me in a gentle hug as the tears fell, hiding me from Jenna's view from where she sat in the chair in the corner, reading a book. I cried silently with them, feeling Caroline's tears drip onto my insanely greasy hair, with Bonnie's lips pressed comfortingly to my forehead. It hurt, having them hold me, but I clenched my teeth and bared it, because I'd needed this hug since the damn car had crashed, and I wasn't about to waste the opportunity.

They pulled away slowly after a while, and I wiped my cheeks, hissing over the now-closed cut. The stitches in my cheek had come out a couple of days ago, but the skin was still hyper-sensitive. I was warned it would scar. Right now I couldn't much care.

"How're you doing?" Bonnie asked. She took a seat on the bed by my hip, conscious of the bandaged leg peeking out from the covers. I shrugged a shoulder.

"I've been better." I said. Caroline and Bonnie nodded. It felt awkward. I knew that they didn't know what to say, and I didn't blame them.

"So, what's the verdict?" Caroline quipped, gesturing to, well, me. I talked them through the full list of injuries, pointing now and then to the specified places. Bonnie winced.

"Ouch." She said. I nodded.

We fell into an awkward silence once more.

"What are you doing about exams?" Caroline asked, throwing me off. I hadn't thought about exams in almost two weeks.

"I don't know." I sighed, rubbing my face. I was careful to avoid the scarring gash. "What's the date?"

"June 8th." Bonnie supplied. I thought for a moment.

"I'll be in school by the bio exam, I'm sure." I wasn't sure. I was hopeful, but not sure. Bonnie and Caroline shared glances.

"Elena, nobody is expecting you to..."

"It's alright, I wanna get them out the way." I assured. It wasn't alright. I didn't want to do anything, but I also didn't like being left to my own thoughts. A distraction would be nice, and up until now I had forgotten about revision and exams.

And then Caroline threw me another curve ball.

"'Lena," She began, and I could tell there was something she was itching to say, "the day...the day of the accident. It was your..." she trailed off there, but I knew what she was getting at. I turned my gaze away.

I gave a non-committal shrug, because as much as I wanted to tell them about Damon, to tell them what a star he was and how he'd saved my life and all that jazz, I wanted to keep him to myself a little longer. Just thinking about him had me yanking my ponytail hard enough to hurt; I looked disgusting. If he came by now...oh, God.

See, when I was under observation last week, I didn't really have to worry about how I looked, because it was only Jenna and Jeremy allowed in, and they've seen me at my worst and then some. Here, though, I'd forgotten that anybody and everybody could walk in. Damon fell into that category.

"Aunt Jenna?" I called suddenly. Caroline and Bonnie shared looks and passed their gazes between Jenna and me.

"Yeah?" Jenna replied. She lay her copy of '_Pride and Prejudice'_ closed in her lap.

"Can I have a bath please?"

One of the many _perks _of having multiple breaks and bruises; I'm not allowed to wash myself. That job falls to an overweight nurse with incredibly cold hands, a little bit of facial hair and a terrible bedside manner. Or bath-side. Whatever. Either way, I don't like her.

Jenna left the room in search of said nurse. I turned back to Caroline and Bonnie, who were both eyeing me with raised brows and expectant glares. I mean, how suspicious must it look for me to have a mini hygiene freak-out the minute they bring up my call day?

"I..." _I've dug myself a ho-ole_. "I just don't want to talk about that now." I reasoned. Caroline's face softened, and I gave myself a mental high-five for finding my way out of that corner. Gross, greasy girl getting naked = perfect out for an awkward situation.

"That's okay, Elena." Bonnie said softly, smiling a sad smile my way. I felt guilty, then, for unintentionally milking this whole situation. I waved the pair off, and right then Jenna returned with butch nurse lady. Caroline's eyes widened.

"I'll run you a bath." She said in the most monotone of voices. I just nodded with pursed lips. Tip; do _not_ aggravate the woman who controls the sponge. Sponges can be painful when wielded by angry possibly-hermaphroditic nurses.

When she'd closed the bathroom door, Caroline and Bonnie turned a second set of raised brows my way.

"Wow." Bonnie said. I nodded in agreement, blowing air from between my lips.

"We'll urm...we'll leave you to it." Caroline leaned over and kissed my cheek. Bonnie did the same, and they exited the room, shooting the bathroom one final, wary glance.

* * *

After a very awkward (and not at all enjoyable) sponge bath, Miss Trunchbull returned me to my bed in a fresh gown, with my hair dripping over my shoulders. I found a note from Jenna on my bedside table, informing me that she'd gone to pick up Jeremy from his first day back at school and would return later with some real food and good company. Meaning Jeremy was coming to see me. Which didn't _necessarily _mean good company. Whatever.

I was staring down the towel Nurse Hilda had left on the bed for me and contemplating how exactly she wanted me to dry my hair with it when my hands were still out of commission, when a soft knock sounded on the door. I turned to see Damon leaning on the door frame, eyeing me with one raised brow.

"Hi." I mumbled, gaze returning to the conundrum of a towel. He sauntered into the room and took a seat on the bed, lifting the towel and holding it out to me.

"What the hell does she expect me to do with that." I deadpanned. Damon barked out a laugh and stood, walking around the bed so that he was on my other side.

"Turn your head." He said, and I did, and I winced. "Carefully." He reprimanded. I rolled my eyes. He lifted the towel and took the tips of my hair, ringing them gently to get the water out. I let him work, sighing and leaning back a little.

"How you doing?" He asked after a time. I shrugged.

"I've been better. Certainly been worse, though."

He massaged my scalp with the towel and I let my eyes slide closed.

"I've been worried about you." He said. It was quiet, and I almost didn't hear it, but it was enough to startle me out of the little world of peace and gentle touches I'd settled into, and I turned my head a little.

"You don't have to worry about me." I replied. But seriously, I was squealing inside because this beautiful man with his insanely blue eyes and softer-than-silk raven hair and hands that could work magic was worried about _me. _

"Sure I do." He replied. My hair was drip-free by then, so he discarded the towel in the chair beside the bed and began running his fingers through the tangled tresses. "Do you have a hair brush?"

"There's one in the drawer." I gestured to the bedside table-cabinet thing. He opened it and took out the brush. He tugged on the tips of my hair, like I do when I'm nervous, and I smiled because it seemed like we might have a common habit. Then I realised I was smiling because a man I'd just met liked to pull my hair, and that seemed a little masochistic, so I banished the thought.

"Is this weird?" I said suddenly. Damon stopped playing with my hair and I turned to see him frowning at me.

"Is _what_ weird?" He asked.

"This," I gestured to his fingers in my hair, and the way he was sitting behind him, cradling my hips between his knees, "us. I've met you twice, and neither of those meetings were...opportune." He chuckled in response.

"We live in a world where our bodies count down to the day we meet the person we're going to spend the rest of our lives with, and you think the fact that we have a connection is weird?"

Well, when you put it like that...

He tugged my hair again, and I smiled again, and I realised it was weird again, but I didn't much care. He made me feel happy, for the first time in two weeks.

And then I fell quiet, because something horrible was eating at the back of my mind. Damon was talking, but his words weren't registering. I felt another pull on the tips of my hair, and Damon's hand on my shoulder. I yielded to the pressure and turned to face him. He was frowning down at me.

"Have you heard a word I just said?" He questioned. His voice was joking, but he had a look in his eyes that told me this conversation could turn serious, real fast. I shrugged my no and dropped my gaze. "Okay, what's on your mind?" He sat back against my pillows, on hand tucked behind his head, the other hovering over my back.

"Am I..." I paused to gather my thoughts. "Am I allowed to be happy right now?"

He pushed himself upright and let his palm settle between my shoulder blades.

"Am I allowed to be okay? I don't...I feel like I shouldn't..." I couldn't find a way to put my thoughts into words for him, and that frustrated me more than it should have. I held my face in my hands and clenched my eyes closed. _Do no cry. No more crying, not in front of him. _

"Elena," He said, sighing. He shuffled impossibly closer on the bed and curled his fingers around my wrist. I knew he wanted me to move my hands from my face, but I didn't want him to see me crying so I kept them still, tears soaking the thin bandages.

"Elena." He repeated. His voice was soft but commanding, and before I really knew what I was doing I was lifting my face to his. He cupped a hand under my jaw and held my gaze. "Listen to me. You're allowed to feel whatever the hell you want right now. Nobody is going to judge you for trying to be happy in the middle of this mess."

I didn't feel like what he was saying was entirely true, because I'm not a perfect person and I know that deep down, if I saw a girl who's parents had died just two weeks ago, smiling and laughing with a boy she'd just met, I'd sure as hell be judging her. But maybe that makes me even more of a horrible person, I don't know.

I don't really know why I did it, and I don't really know what made me feel comfortable enough with Damon to do it, but I dropped my weight his way and let him catch me. He held my head against his chest and let me cry because I felt like a worthless human being, and he told me that I wasn't a worthless human being at all and I didn't believe him one bit, but it was nice to be told and it made me feel the slightest bit better about this whole situation.

"Elena," He murmured against my hair. I mumbled a completely incoherent reply. "I don't mean to crash your pity party," he said, and I smiled because that's what I've been saying about myself for two weeks now, "but you've got company."

I lifted my head from his chest and looked to the door, where a group of five familiar faces were bunched. Jenna was in silent tears, a bag hanging from one hand. Jeremy was frowning over at us. Caroline and Bonnie were biting back smiles and tears all at once, and the fifth face, Matt Donovan's face, was shooting Damon a steely glare.

**A/N: There you have it, chapter 6! I hope that one was okay, because I don't have a back-up this time ;) **

**Drop me a review and let me know what you thought! **

**Thanks in advance. **

**Much love, **

**Someone x **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Jesus, I am so sorry! I know it's been a while, I've just had a bit of writers block in the fanfiction department, and some serious inspiration on the original writing front. I saw an author last night (John Green, the man who wrote The Fault In Our Stars, the novel I referenced earlier in this fic oh my god life = made he signed my ticket and everything) and now I'm kind of buzzing about writing again, so I blasted this out when I got home. **

**It's not the longest chapter, but it's getting there, and I think I've denied you all for long enough, so without further ado, chapter 7. **

**(okay, further ado, but this is necessary) **

**Disclaimer; I own noooooothing you recognise. **

**Apologies for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes. Love you guys! **

I cleared my throat and sat upright. Matt Donovan.

Matt and I have been best friends since, well, before I can remember. I think. I don't really know, since I can't remember and all. Particulars aside, we've been friends for an awful long time. And about a year and a half ago we'd decided to screw fate, screw the universe, screw everything else and...I'm sure you get the picture. Anyways, it didn't work out. Surprise-surprise. Turns out this soul mate business is pretty unavoidable, and as my call day drew nearer I drifted farther and farther away from Matt. He hadn't taken it lightly.

And here we are, me in a hospital bed cosy-ing up to a man I've known for two weeks, wearing (as I, red-cheeked, became aware of) nothing but a backless hospital gown and a couple of bandages.

Safe to say, Matt was semi-entitled to be pissed.

"Hey." I said awkwardly, reaching a hand for my mostly dry hair. Damon had it between his fingers, slipping the tips to and fro across the pads. I fidgeted more than I normally would have; I've never noticed how much my hair occupies me when I'm nervous.

"Who's this guy?" Matt asked. I bristled, because surely the last thing he should care about right now is the fact that there is another man in my bed, so to speak.

"This is Damon Salvatore." I said. Damon released my hair to wave a hand, and I tugged a clump of it over my shoulder. He took the rest and ran his fingers through it.

"It was Elena's call day." Jenna verified. She was still swiping tears from her cheeks.

"Well, don't just stand there." I said. Matt's eyes hadn't left Damon. I yanked on my locks hard enough to hurt. "Come on in."

With a nudge, Matt and the rest of the group made their way inside and seated themselves around the room, pulling chairs up to the bed. Damon shifted behind me, but showed no other signs of discomfort.

"So, how old are you, Damon?" Matt asked. I rolled my eyes.

"Twenty." He supplied. I swallowed. Why had I not thought to ask him this? It's not that big a deal, I suppose; only a two year age gap. But still.

"Huh." Matt said. I'd expected Jeremy, brother and all, to be the over-protective one. Or even Jenna. But Jenna was sorting whatever was in the bag – which, incidentally, smelled delicious – and didn't seem to notice the interrogation.

"Drop it, Matt." I said softly. He gave me an almost indignant look, turning baby blues on me, but I avoided eye contact and continued the conversation.

"Damon, this is Caroline," I gestured to the blonde, "Bonnie," She gave a wave, "Matt," Matt made no move to acknowledge he'd heard the introduction, "And you've met Jenna and Jeremy."

"Hey." Damon said. A chorus of 'hey's and 'hello's and 'how's it going's echoed dumbly through the room. I rolled my eyes.

"Food." Jenna announced from behind the group. Various take-out boxes from The Grill were passed around the room, cutlery and napkins included, and everybody settled in to eat. Jenna gave Damon an apologetic look.

"If I'd known you'd be here I would have got you something." She said. Damon waved her off and told her not to worry about it.

"So, 'Lena," Caroline said, a hint of mischief filtering into her tone, "_I just don't want to talk about that now_, hmm?"

I felt my cheeks redden.

"I swear," I said, holding up bandaged hands in surrender, "I swear I didn't know he was coming. I just...it hit me when you mentioned it that he _could_ turn up."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Bonnie asked.

"I just..." I turned to look over my shoulder, glancing at Damon. He didn't seem to be listening to the conversation all that intently, but he caught my gaze and smiled nonetheless. "I know its selfish," I said gently, twining my fingers together (as best I could) in my lap, "But I wanted...I wanted to keep him to myself, for a little while."

Blush mode: well and truly activated. I let some of my hair fall in front of my face.

Caroline and Bonnie both crooned out identical 'awww's and I glanced their way to see sickly sweet expressions on their faces. I swear, the sight alone almost had me gagging.

"Well, Damon, tell us a bit about yourself." Jenna said, tipping back a mouthful of an unidentifiable shops-own brand of soda.

"Hmm." Damon hummed, rolling his eyes to the right in thought. "What do you want to know?"

Jena scrunched her mouth to one side, then said;

"Where did you grow up?"

"Mystic Falls, believe it or not." I raised my brows, but he couldn't see.

"And you moved away?"

"Yeah, when I was eight. Dad got a new job, and mom...had her reasons."

I made a mental note to ask about those reasons later.

"So what brings you back?" Matt asked.

"My brother." Damon said. "He's wanted to come back for a while, and I needed to get away, so here we are."

"How old's your brother?" Bonnie chimed in. I looked at her through narrowed eyes, and she shrugged my way.

"Same age as Elena."

The conversation continued that way for a good hour before Caroline, Matt and Bonnie decided it was time to leave. In that time, I painted a pretty little picture of Damon Salvatore.

Born in Mystic Falls in 1982, Damon grew up in the Boarding House with his mother, father and baby brother, Stefan. They owned and ran the Boarding House (which is still there, though no longer in business. Now I know why) for eight years, until opportunity and necessity had them moving from our quaint little suburban town to Chicago. Damon _hated_ Chicago. Stefan had fun, for a while, until only a couple of months ago, when the urge to head home kicked in, real hard. Damon's father refused to move back; his business was booming, and he'd be damned if he gave it up now. So Damon packed his bags and took Stefan with him.

They'd moved into the Boarding House just two weeks before my accident. On that day, Damon was driving to school for a meeting with the principle, an unidentified board member, a council member, and Alaric Saltzman, who would be Stefan's form tutor. Due to a delay in said meeting, Stefan was yet to start at Mystic Falls High School.

"Damon," I said after a while. The room had fallen silent with just the four of us; Jeremy brooding over something on his phone, Jenna flicking through the pages of _Pride and Prejudice_ at a pace that made me question whether she was actually reading it or not, and Damon absently massaging my scalp.

"Yeah?"

"You didn't say why your mother had to be in Chicago."

Damon bristled behind me. I felt dread coil in my gut and reached a hand back, rubbing his forearm.

"It doesn't matter." I said softly. His body relaxed again. I frowned out into the room; so his mother was a touchy subject. Second mental note of the day; made. Damon swiftly changed the subject.

"Your friends seemed...nice."

"That sounds insincere." I commented drily. I don't think Damon had taken all too well to being interrogated.

"I'm serious!" He said, as though it were an outrage for me to suggest otherwise. "I liked Blondie, she had spunk."

"Caroline." I corrected.

"Whatever. Who was the guy?"

"Matt?"

"Mhm."

I puffed air through my lips and settled back against Damon. Honesty being the best policy, I told Damon the whole truth. How long we'd been friends, our brief romping period (watered down, details avoided), our disagreements when I broke off the 'relationship', and his insane ability to be jealous when he most certainly shouldn't be.

"Hmm." Damon hummed. I felt him playing with the tips of my hair again. I tilted my head up to see him rubbing his thumb across his lower lip, eyes trained ahead.

"I don't like him." Damon said finally. I rolled my eyes. Of course not.

"Just don't make a big deal out of it, okay?" I asked him. It was his turn for an eye-roll. I can tell you now that Damon Salvatore is a world-class eye-roller. He gave me an overly dramatic sigh before conceding, then, without much warning, began shuffling his way out from behind me. I frowned in question as he lay me back against my pillows, which were exceedingly warm. Warm is good.

He held his phone up in front of him and frowned at it, and it was then that I noticed it was vibrating pretty violently against his hand. I looked over at my pitiful excuse for a cell, lying despondent on the table beside the bed. The damn thing probably couldn't vibrate if it tried.

"I should take this." He said, and before I could reply he'd flitted from the room, closing the door behind him. Jenna and Jeremy looked up at his sudden departure, and I continued to aim turned-down brows at the door.

The only sound in the room was the soft ticking of the clock (I'm ninety-nine per cent certain that until that point, I hadn't even known there was a clock in the room. If I had, I simply hadn't acknowledged it), and as the seconds passed by and the minutes built up I wondered what could be so important to be keeping him this long. And by the passing of an hour I was sure he wasn't coming back. That stung a little, knowing he'd left without saying goodbye, but I presumed he had his reasons.

Besides that, it was getting on in the day, and I was beginning to realise just how tired I was. I settled back, snuggling into the bed clothes, and I vaguely remember mumbling a 'good-night' to Jenna and Jeremy, and I _think _I remember them returning the sentiment, and then I closed my eyes and let sleep wash over me.

**A/N: Ta-dah! Bit of a mystery there with Damon, but all will be revealed soon. I hope you liked the chapter, and I really hope it was worth the wait! **

**Drop me a review and let me know what you thought! **

**Thanks in advance. **

**Much love, **

**Someone x **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hi all! Sorry it's been a while (again), I've got loads of ideas for this, but I don't want to rush it. So this is another slow chapter, but pay attention because there's some weird things going on with some of the characters, and I kind of want you to start worrying about them. **

**This is setting up a bit of a darker side to both Damon and Elena's stories, so it may seem like not much is happening, but it's the foundations on which things will build and build until the shit hits the fan. So to speak. **

**Also! For any of you SPN and/or Pushing Daisy's fans out there: I have a friend, kick-it-up-a-knotch, who has just started a Supernatural fic that contains the whole premise of Pushing Daisy's, and I haven't watched much of either show, but I'm enjoying it so far. So, if you fancy, give that a go and give her some inspiration; she's a new author on here, so any feedback will help her! **

**And, if you want more updates or want to ask me anything about this story, The Shifters, or have a suggestion for something in the Closer collection, you call follow me on Twitter Lollii59, or on Tumblr – someone-stole-my-shoes. **

**Disclaimer; I own nothing. As per. **

**Apologies for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes. I didn't have time to read this one through. **

I awoke to the sound of voices.

It was too goddamned early to be up, or at least it felt that way. I blinked my eyes open, and the light stung them enough to force them closed again.

"What time is it?" I mumbled, lifting an arm and resting it over my closed lids.

"Good morning to you, too, princess." A snarky voice sounded from somewhere to my left. I wrenched my sleep deprived lids up and turned to see Damon by my bedside. He was smiling an easy smile, but there was something disconcerting about his eyes, and about the way his hair was mussed, but not sleep-mussed. Mussed, like, nervous-hands mussed. _The word mussed sounds weird, stop it. _

"Morning." I said. I'd opened my mouth to ask a 'you okay?' but Jenna was talking to a nurse not three feet from my bed side, and I didn't want to make him uncomfortable again, so I settled on the aforementioned statement.

"Afternoon." He said, and I smiled, and he smiled a little more but it still didn't reach his eyes and _that_ had me worried.

"Glad to see you awake, Elena." A cheery voice called from the door. Meredith Fell, my doctor, was standing in blue surgical scrubs and a white coat, clipboard held across her chest with one arm. She smiled at me, and I returned it with as much cheeriness as I could muster.

"Hi." I said lamely. She wandered over to me, flipping through a chart I'm now certain was mine, then closed it and hooked it on the end of the bed.

"Well, Elena, you're healing up nicely." Again she smiled, all pearly white teeth.

"That's good, I guess." I felt decidedly like a teenager at that moment.

"Very good." Meredith confirmed. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. She looked like she had something she wanted to say, and I couldn't figure out why she wasn't saying it, and then her eyes flicked to Damon and I understood.

"It's okay." I said to her. "He's a friend, I don't mind him hearing."

Which, at that moment, I realised, seemed very odd, considering I'd known him for – how long? I made a mental note to ask somebody more about this soul mates business.

"Well," Dr. Fell said, "You'll be happy to know the bandages are coming off your hands today. They'll be sensitive, but functioning. And in about a week we're hoping to start some light physio, but we'll need to wait until your leg's heeled more before we get onto the heavier stuff."

All I could do was nod, because that seemed like an irrefutable statement. We fell into an awkward silence, and upon bringing a hand to my hair to play with it I noticed that sleeping with it damp hadn't done it wonders. It was very hit-y-miss-y in that department. Today was _not_ a win.

The day was a bit blurry beyond that point, because lots of things seemed to happen at once and a lot of it seemed to be going on around me, and very little seemed to be including me, so I sat back and watched it happen without really taking any of it in. I do know, though, that by three o'clock – after my psychiatrist (who, I maintain, is a douche) had been and talked and expected me to cry and insisted something was wrong when I didn't, had left – Damon and I were alone in the room. He'd left at lunch to give me some privacy with the brain doctor (who I don't really class as a doctor, because she just guesses things, but whatever). He was still looking a little out-of-sorts, and I was still worried, and I wanted him to talk about whatever it was that was bothering him.

"Damon?" I questioned gently. He 'mhm'ed me, looking at the wall opposite him with glazed eyes, while brushing his thumb across his lower lip. "Are you okay?"

He blinked out of his trance and cleared his throat.

"Yeah, yeah, Elena, I'm fine." And he smiled, but it still didn't seem right, and I didn't like the thought of him lying to me.

I reached out and wrapped my freshly-unwrapped hand around his wrist, ducking my head to catch his eyes and lift them to mine.

"Hey," I said, almost a whisper, "You can talk to me."

"I know." He replied instantly. "And I will, if I need to. But I don't."

I narrowed my eyes at him, but didn't push. Men could be so damn stubborn.

(insert line break)

It was hard to believe it had only been just over two weeks since the car accident. I'd refused to let myself dwell on it much, even at the funeral I held my tongue and bit back the tears, zoning out as people hugged me and sorry-for-your-loss-ed me and offered all kinds of crazy condolences. Half of the school turned up to the event, which was painful at best, because they all eyed me with so much pity that I was left feeling a little sick.

My biology exam (which I was still, stubbornly, going to sit) was scheduled the next day, and I spent the day before in the hospital with Caroline and Bonnie, all three of us planted on the bed with notes and books strewn around us, furiously questioning one another. I'd had a chair pulled up to one side of the bed, and my bandaged leg was resting on it, hanging off the edge of the mattress to make room for the others. Jenna had a meeting with a social worker, Jeremy was in school, and Damon was taking the day to sort Stefan's arrangements for final exams, leaving the three of us alone for the first time in weeks.

We were in the middle of an excretion pop quiz when Caroline burst like a dam.

"Okay so you and Damon." She blurted. I glanced, wide eyed, but said nothing, waiting for her to elaborate. She didn't.

"What about me and Damon?"

"You're kind of adorable."

And if I didn't know better, I'd have said she sounded jealous.

"Thank you, I guess?"

"You seem to really like him." Bonnie commented lightly, examining her nails and watching me in her peripheral vision. Nonchalance was never Bonnie's strong suit.

"I do like him." I replied.

"Do you love him?" Caroline asked. I choked on nothing in particular and coughed to clear my throat.

"What, sorry?"

"I asked if you love him." She repeated, pinning me with a good-old-fashioned Caroline-grilling stare. I rolled my eyes.

"I've known him for two weeks, Care. I'm pretty sure it's impossible to fall in love with somebody that quickly."

"Love at first sight." Bonnie sing-song-ed. I close my eyes and shook my head, trying to hide my smile.

"We're just friends."

"You can_not_ use that argument this time, he's your soul mate!"

"Speaking of," I intervened, curling the corner of my lip up in a sly smile (at least, it was a sly smile in my mind. I have no idea what it looked like to them – maybe like I was growling. I don't know.), "how are things with Klaus?"

Caroline's eyes lit up, and she was off. I could see her mouth moving a mile a minute as she vented, 'aww'ing at the sweet moments and laughing to herself at the funny things that were evidently 'had to be there' occasions, because I didn't find it particularly amusing. Still, I let her talk, purely because it meant I didn't have to.

While she talked and Bonnie provided the appropriate responses, I let my mind wander to Damon. He'd been a little...off, since he got that phone call, and he'd yet to open up to me about it. Which seemed supremely unfair, because I'd done nothing but open up to him about everything, and he'd been a good listener, so it seemed only right to return the favour.

(insert line break here)

_Everything hurt. _

_My chest felt too tight, like my lungs were trying to burst out of my ribcage, and my blood was thumping angrily in my ears. It was dark; pitch black, and my eyes tried in vain to adjust to the lack of light. I could hear nothing but my own heart beat and wind whipping through branches. My whole body ached furiously; my eyes flooded under the intensity of the pain. _

_And then the world began to clear, and the sound of my own rushing blood gave way to something else, something more violent, something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. _

_Screaming. _

_It was so close to me, somewhere in front, and I squinted through the sea of black to catch a glimpse of whoever it was that was making the noise, but the veil wouldn't shift. It was almost a relief to close my eyes and see a level of darkness I recognised. But the screaming wouldn't stop, not fully, and it began moulding itself into something else, something more coherent. _

"_Help me! Oh, God, help me, please!" The voice sobbed, and I hissed and tried to call out, because that was a voice I knew very, very well. _

"_Mom?" I felt my mouth form the word, felt my tongue curl around it, but I couldn't force the air through my throat hard enough to make a sound. I tried again, and again, but it became all-too apparent that I was sitting dumb and blind, waiting for something to happen. Something around me moaned and creaked and my mother screamed again. She sounded so pained and I wanted to help so badly, but there was nothing I could do. I tried to move, to reach her, but my body was pinned in place. _

"_Help! Please, oh my god!" She was crying; harsh, gut wrenching sobs, sounds I've never heard come from her before. It hit me that we were still in the car, and dad's side was completely crushed, hidden beneath layer after layer of metal. Our side was in one piece, but the metal was groaning and the car was shifting, and my mother was screaming louder and louder and she was in so much pain and there was nothing I could do, and then the car gave one final protesting grind..._

_Everything stopped. The movement, the groaning, the creaking. _

_The screaming. _

I shot up in bed; a move my ribs didn't take kindly, and glanced around the room. Jenna's head was just lifting from her book (_Wuthering Heights_; she'd moved on to bigger and better things), and she eyed me with a slightly confused gaze. I panted for breath, because the room felt entirely too small and the air supply was running very low.

"Elena?" Damon rang out from beside the bed. He was sitting in the chair I'd had pulled up earlier, when Bonnie and Caroline had been here. I vaguely remembered them being kicked from the room by my possibly-hermaphroditic nurse so that I could have a bath, and I could only assume that I fell asleep not long after that. It was still incredibly light outside, and if Damon was still here, it was obviously within visiting hours.

I tried to form some kind of reply, but my body wasn't responding the way it should have, and instead of speaking, I began to shake. Violently. I couldn't stop it, each muscle was convulsing of its own accord as though my body thought I was too cold, and it hurt all the unhealed breaks and bruises.

"Elena?" Jenna repeated, laying her book aside and approaching the bed. My face felt wet. It took me a while to realise that I was still crying.

"Does she need the doctor?" I heard Jenna whisper to Damon, who replied with a quiet 'I don't know' and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. He took my hands in his and held them together in my lap.

"Hey," He breathed softly. I shook my head, although I don't really know why. I don't think it's what I'd intended to do, but my body just wasn't cooperating at that point. "What's wrong?" He murmured. I shook my head again. _Why?_

"'Lena, honey?" Jenna cooed, rubbing my shoulder gently. It took me a minute, but eventually I relaxed into the touch.

I don't think you need all the details, but eventually I told them about the dream and I cried some more, and it took the pair of them a good twenty minutes to calm me down. I took a few breathes, and after wiping the tears from my cheeks I settled back against my pillows.

"You okay now?" Damon asked, a soft smirk quirking his lip. I nodded and forced a smile back.

Lies are lies; it doesn't matter what the context – whether you're being helpful or hurtful – and I felt the guilt the minute I moved my head in the affirmative. The dream shook me more than I'd let on (if you'll believe it) because a huge part of me was screaming that it wasn't just a dream.

If it was a memory, my mother had been alive after the car crashed. She'd been _alive_. She could have got out, she could have been here with me and Jeremy and Jenna, and we would only have one grave to mourn, and this whole situation would be that little bit easier.

As darkness fell later that night, and I curled into my pillows and covers, alone in the room, I let my mind take control. It flashed up image after image, memory after memory; Bonnie and Caroline, Jeremy's sleep deprived eyes, Jenna's pale-faced worry. Damon's stress-mussed hair and unfocused gaze.

And my mother's screams when the car collapsed around her.

**A/N: Okay, the angst is starting to build. **

**I know this chapter was kind of all over the place, and nothing solid really happened, but as mentioned earlier, this one is the beginning of at least two story arcs I'm hoping you'll like.**

**As you can see there's clearly something going on with Damon – which you'll hear more about soon – and Elena's reaching a darker place with regards to her parent's death. We'll also see some Ric and Jenna interaction in the next chapter, so keep an eye out for that. **

**I'll try and update sooner this time, I promise. **

**Drop me a review and let me know what you thought, and don't forget to check out kick-it-up-a-knotch and her SPN story! **

**Thanks in advance, guys. **

**Much love, **

**Someone x**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Well hello there! Okay, so here's the thing. I'm struggling to find time to write at the moment, which sucks because I'm really getting into this fic, and I don't want to let you down because, let's face it, a lot more people are reading this than I originally anticipated. Which meant I didn't, at first, feel bad about the possibility of not updating it very often. Now I do, because a fair few of you are showing an interest. **

**Know this isn't me saying I'm quitting it, I'm just forewarning you that lapses between updates are getting a little more sporadic. **

**Now, that being said, here's your next chapter! I'm sorry about the tiny little cliffy at the end, and I hope I can upload the next one soon so you don't have to wait to find out what's going on! **

**Note: Some of this stuff might get a bit angsty, but there is at least one cheery storyline that will run all the way through. Please enjoy! **

**Disclaimer; I own nothing. **

**Apologies for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes. And thanks to my pal kick-it-up-a-knotch, who read this chapter through for me and pointed out my gross mistakes! As I said last chapter, if you're a fan of Supernatural, Pushing Daisies, or Sherlock, go check out her fics! They're awesome :) **

Two weeks had passed since the biology final from hell (I refuse to go into detail, but I will say that I never want to see another diagram of a pancreas as long as I live), and I'll admit I was still silently fuming over the damn paper. Nobody should know that much information about hormones. _Nobody_.

I came home from the hospital a few days after the aforementioned exam (of which I would no longer like to discuss). Home felt unnervingly un-homely now, but Jenna was trying her best. She'd shifted a lot of the family photographs into my parents' bedroom, along with a cornucopia of other memorabilia that usually lived in plain sight. Those items included jewellery, certain dishes in the kitchen, a couple of hanging pictures, mum and dad's toothbrushes, and a fruit bowl (I don't even know). She'd also rearranged the furniture, in some vain hope that it'd make the house feel less like the old house and more like the 'new house'. Which it didn't. Because it _was_ the old house, and it always would be.

Suffice it to say, things were going less than okay.

First things first; Jeremy. Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy. My baby brother was being...something of a pain in the ass. Yes, he'd finally gone off the deep end. Jenna found a joint in his jacket pocket. It's not like we hadn't foreseen it, but it still hurt when our nasty little suspicions were confirmed. Jenna came to me the night she found it, eyes wide and teary.

"What do I do?" She'd said.

"I don't know." Was my (startlingly intellectual) reply.

"I can't confront him!" She hissed, "can I?"

I shrugged. "I'm sure you could..."

"No, I can't." She muttered. She slumped down onto the sofa beside me and rested her head in her hands.

"I could just smoke it, and he never has to know. Kill at _least_ three birds with one stone."

I figured the third bird had more to do with fixing one of Jenna's problems over Jeremy's, but I didn't comment.

In the end, we decided I would report it to the school. Which is what I did, and is why Jenna has a meeting scheduled with Jeremy's form tutor and the school counsellor in a few days' time.

Second problem; my nightmares.

Since that day in the hospital, I haven't been able to shake the dream-memory jumble from my mind, and night by night it's getting worse. I mentioned it to my psychiatrist, who seemed very interested in the dream aspect, and pretty much ignored my worry that it might be a memory. She promised she'd think it over some more and let me know about all of her possible interpretations when we next saw each other. I'm not looking forward to it.

The worst part is, it's not been a one time thing. Almost every night I've had the same dream, sometimes it goes on for longer in the silence, and sometimes I wake up before the screams end, but no matter what I shoot up in bed in the same cold sweat and uncontrollable shivering, and every time the guilt gets a little more unbearable.

And on top of Jeremy and me, there's Damon.

He's been both my saving grace and a thorn in my side for the last two weeks, and I don't know which quality outweighs the other. He's getting snarkier by the day, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't...kind of like this side of him, but he can be harsh sometimes, and I don't know what's caused the change. Or if there is any change. Maybe he's always been like this and I've just been...blinded by gratitude. I don't know. But either way, there's something going on that he's not telling me.

Secretive is one thing, but what he's doing is taking it to a whole new level.

He's missing frequently, now. He'll disappear for a couple of days at a time, with zero explanation as to where he's been, and he doesn't even bother trying to make excuses. I've asked him a couple of tentative questions, but his default responses are set to 'don't worry' and 'it's nothing', or, when he's having a particularly bad day, 'it's not your concern'. That one _really _annoys me. I feel like it kind of _is_ my concern, him being my soul mate and all.

Speaking of, I broached the subject to Carol Lockwood, the Mayer's wife (and a friend of my parents) when she came over to offer her condolences for at least the thirst time, along with a lasagne, – which, tragically, wasn't even the first one we've recieved since the accident – and she told me that it's common to become quickly attached to the person who's shared your countdown. 'It's all part of the process', she'd said. That made it sound very clinical, but I didn't comment. Out loud.

I think the most disturbing part of my Damon-dilemma was the time I caught him crying.

Not full-on, chest-heaving, gut-wrenching sobs, but a modest tear on the cheek that spoke the exact same volume. He'd been on the phone again, and he'd left my room to take the call, and when I hobbled my way out onto the porch I'd found him on the swing with his head bent and the silent track marring his skin.

He'd simply nodded when I asked if he was okay, then excused himself, hugged me, and left.

It took him three days to come back.

(insert line break)

It was a Monday, again (because they happen at least once every seven days) and I was dragging myself out of bed. My alarm clock doesn't blast Pink at me anymore. In fact, it doesn't blast anything, because it was among those item's Jenna hid in my parents' room, and I now have a new fancy one that can play recognisable songs on the first attempt, which just doesn't feel the same.

Showering was still a challenge, and I was clean enough for another day of school anyway, so I settled for brushing up and making myself look presentable before grabbing my crutches from behind the door and awkwardly jostling my way down the stairs. Using the crutches didn't mix all that well with my aggressively awkward collar bone fracture, but that had healed well enough in the month it'd had to get itself together. My leg was still out of commission, though.

I was greeted by a flustered Jenna in the kitchen. I would have mentioned a greeting of any kind from the teen chomping on a bowl of some unidentifiable cereal brand, if there'd been a greeting to mention. He tended to faze everybody out, excluding his I-don't-even-know-what-she-is Vikki.

"What is it?" I huffed, blowing a strand of hair away from my eye.

"I have this meeting today," She began, ringing her hands together, "but I...oh, look."

And she held out her wrist.

00d 02h 33m 04s.

It was 8:02. Jenna's meeting started at 10:30.

"Oh." Was all I could say.

"I completely forgot! I've been so busy with everything I just..." She dropped into a seat at the counter and rubbed a hand over her face.

"It'll be okay." I said. It was a feeble attempt at comfort, but an attempt nonetheless.

"No, no it won't." She hung her head. I rolled my eyes. Jenna's lovely, she is, but she's a drama queen with an act stretching towards the Caroline Forbes Standard.

"Look, Jenna, just-."

"Shouldn't we get going?" Jeremy grumbled. I sent him the darkest look I could muster, which wasn't all that dark because I haven't had much practice in the art of scowling, but the intent was there.

"Fine."

The parking lot was overly crowded when we arrived. Trying to navigate the entire monstrosity on crutches was not one of my finest moments. Once inside, I shuffled my way to Mr. Saltzman's room, where I met Caroline and Bonnie.

"Morning!" Caroline addressed me with a wide smile. I returned it, but it took some effort.

"How're you?" Bonnie asked. I shrugged, playing at nonchalance.

"Fine." I lied. Bonnie and Caroline knew about the Jeremy situation, but on everything else they were completely clueless. I intended to keep it that way.

"The meeting's today, right?" Caroline said in a hushed tone. I nodded. Yes, the meeting. My stomach churned in worry; I had no idea what the school would say or do, and I just hoped Jeremy wouldn't be in too much trouble.

"What do you thinks gonna happen?" Bonnie asked.

"I don't know," I sighed, and then opened my mouth to reply, but my phone cut me off, vibrating angrily in my pocket. A message from Damon. My stomach flipped, and I'm still not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

_Can I pick you up for lunch? Xxx_

I tapped out a quick 'okay', added a smiley face and a few kisses, then slipped my phone back in my pocket.

"Who was that?" Caroline hummed in a tone that _screamed_ teasing. I rolled my eyes, but it was a struggle to hold back the quirk of my lip.

"Who do you think." I said. I was trying for calm and collected but it came out shy, and I couldn't stop the blush that crept up my cheeks. I tugged on a lock of hair and twisted it between my fingers.

"I think Damon lo-oves you." She teased. Bonnie laughed, and I hid another blush behind a curtain of hair.

"Hush." I hissed as the classroom door opened, and Mr. Saltzman hurried in. He switched on the computer to give it time to load up, then looked up to the three of us and smiled.

"Morning, girls." He said. We replied with somewhat-peppy 'good mornings' and flashing smiles. Mr. Saltzman directed his next question at me.

"How's the leg?"

I tapped my calf with the bottom of my crutch in a move that I hoped looked kind of cool, when in actuality it really quite hurt, and nodded my head.

"It's getting there, thanks."

"Good," he said, "good." And we fell into a somewhat awkward silence.

This is the thing I hate about being back at school. I have to be around people, all the time, and none of them know how to behave. It sucks that they all know what happened, and I can't even walk down the hallway without getting funny, side-on glances (which might have something to do with my less-than delicate manoeuvring on these damn crutches).

Yes, it was going to be a very long day, just like all the rest.

(insert line break)

I was fifteen minutes into my English lesson – which, by this point, wasn't much of a lesson, seeing as we'd sat the exam the week prior – when the poor kid on office duty knocked quietly on the door and announced that an Elena Gilbert was needed in the counsellor's office immediately. I was excused, and I worked my way, red faced, through the throng of desks until I found myself out in the open hallway.

Outside the counsellor's office, I met an even more flustered Jenna. She raked a hand back through her hair and, upon seeing me, launched from the chair, flinging her wrist up in my face. The countdown was in the final two minutes.

"It's fine." I said. She shook her head at me, hair bouncing across her shoulders.

"It's not fine, it's not fine."

"Jenna," I interrupted, "Why don't we worry about the problem at hand, here. You know, Jeremy?"

"Oh right, right." She muttered, breathing in through her nose. I tried to keep my cool, but I was just as apprehensive as Jenna; what kind of man would she meet in my High School?

The little digits on her wrist wound down to just thirty seconds. _Gulp_. Jenna checked them and barely suppressed a whimper.

"It's okay." I whispered. The door to the counsellors office clicked open, and a small woman wearing far too much pink peered around the frame.

"Ms. Sommers?" She asked, and Jenna shot to her feet. I followed at a far more reasonable pace. Jenna's number's flashed a mere ten seconds. Nine. Eight.

"I'm Heather." The counsellor said, smiling far too brightly and holding out a hand. Jenna shook it shakily.

Four. Three.

Two.

"Sorry I'm late!"

I swear, if I could dislocate my jaw and let it fall further, I would have. It was damn near comical.

"I'm...I'm Alaric. Saltzman." Mr Saltzman's eyes darted to the series of zero's burning into his skin, then looked back up at Jenna. She held out her hand for him to shake, barely masking a blush.

"Well then." I said, pinching my lips to keep myself from grinning. Jenna scratched the back of her neck, and 'Alaric' jammed his hands in his pockets. "Should we get started?"

"We need Jeremy." Heather interrupted. Her voice was very quiet and it made my head hurt a little; I imagined dogs could hear that pitch much better than I could.

"Right! Jeremy." Alaric said. Jenna nodded her agreement. She looked up and they smiled at one another. I was half happy for them. The other half of me wanted to gag.

It took Jeremy ten more minutes to loll into the waiting room, and in that time I had to sit through a very uncomfortable series of whispered questions and giggled answers, and I saw Mr. Saltzman blush on more than one occasion. Finally, though, the five of us were seated in Heather's office, and Mr. Saltzman had returned to his somewhat-professional self.

I won't bore you with the details of that meeting, but I will say that it could have gone better. Heather has scheduled regular meetings with Jeremy, and on top of that he has two weeks of what she calls 'community service', which is the schools way of saving the money it should be using to pay for a couple of extra cleaners.

He also has the pleasure of meeting with my psychiatrist. I do not envy the poor boy there.

And of course, he didn't take lightly to the entire situation. In fact, he made a point of blanking both Jenna and I throughout the entire meeting – which lasted a dismal two hours (of my life I will never get back) – and he was unnecessarily aggressive to Mr. Saltzman and Heather.

It was gruesome, the whole thing.

I was glad to leave the room; one, to get away from Jeremy's temper, and two, to get away from Alaric and Jenna. The pair were making dinner plans when I hobbled away.

I found Damon in the parking lot, leaning on the hood of his Camaro. He'd texted me at quarter past, and I'd had to sneak a reply back from under the table. I'm telling you, if you learn one thing in High School, its how to text without looking.

"Hey," I said. He smiled and kicked off the bumper.

"Morning." He opened the passenger side door and, once I was seated, took my crutches and popped them in the back. Once he slammed his door shut, I twisted in my seat to face him.

"Where to?" I asked.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing."

We argued for a minute, then decided on The Grill.

We found a quiet booth in the back corner, down passed the empty pool tables. A pretty young waitress wearing what I can only describe as scraps of clothing sauntered our way to take our orders. Damon rolled his eyes at me, then turned to her with a bright smile.

"Hi there," She said, rolling the end of a pen across her bottom lip, "What can I get you?"

"Well, I'll have a burger, and my _girlfriend _will have..." He turned his gaze on me, and I placed my order with a somewhat smug grin. The waitress scribbled it down, asked about drinks, then stormed away, but not before sending a soft, full-lipped pout in Damon's very-general direction.

"I'm not technically your girlfriend, you know." I commented once the 'waitress' had departed. Damon rolled his eyes again; as I've said, world-class eye-roller.

"Oh, please," He laughed, and I did too. We settled into comfortable conversation, then fell silent when the waitress returned with our orders. Once she'd left, I told Damon and Jeremy and the meeting and Jenna and Mr. Saltzman. He whistled.

"Eventful morning."

I nodded.

"What about you?" I asked, sipping my Coke, "done much?"

Damon blew air from his cheeks.

"Not much."

I nodded again. This is what conversation between us had been like since that first damn phone call. It was one-sided, and Damon wasn't even making the effort, no matter how much I prompted him.

"What's going on?" I asked abruptly. Damon blinked at me. "The secret phone calls, the sneaking away, the missing days. What's happening, Damon?"

"Nothing, 'Lena, I've told you that."

"Bull." I snapped. He looked a little taken-aback. "Don't give me that. I've been nothing but honest with you, you owe me the same."

He opened his mouth to argue, but I pinned him with a stare that said I wasn't backing down, and he close his jaw with a sigh.

"Elena, it's complicated..."

"Everything about this is complicated!" I cried. The waitress looked up, somewhat hopeful, from behind the bar, and I lowered my voice. "Damon, nothing about this situation has been simple. Please don't make it worse by lying to me."

He pondered me for a moment longer before dropping his eyes to his plate.

"Fine." He breathed. I closed my eyes and thanked whatever God was willing to listen. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Who's been calling you?"

"Various people." He said. I rolled my hand in the universal 'please elaborate' gesture. "Some friends, some...business men, my dad."

"Why?"

"Various reasons."

I quirked a brow.

"Elena, I don't want to get into it."

"No backing out." I insisted.

"You're going to think I'm crazy." He hummed. I shook my head. "Fine," He said, "I'm looking for somebody."

...

"That's it?" I said. "That's all? Why would I think you're crazy?"

"It's not the _what_ that's crazy, Elena. It's the _who_ and the _why_."

I took a minute to think through all the who's and why's that I would consider crazy, then realised it was probably a fool's errand; there are millions of scenarios I wouldn't be able to imagine.

"Just tell me, Damon."

"I'm looking for a man called Elijah Mikealson, because I need to find myself a vampire. And fast."

**A/N: And there we go for this update. Fingers crossed I can churn out another one soon! I decided it was about time I brought the vampires into this baby. **

**Leave me a review and let me know what you thought! **

**Thanks in advance. **

**Much love, **

**Someone x **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Sorry...it's been ages. I'm really sorry about that, but I've had like zero inspiration. My muse has up and left, and my writing style is all out of whack and I'm not happy. But, I'll give you the update anyways, because you guys deserve it! **

**You'll learn some valuable information in this chapter, and it does end on another cliffy...kind of. But hey, enjoy anyway! **

**I also left you a little challenge in the author's note at the bottom of the page, so feel free to input ;) **

**Disclaimer; I own nothing. **

**Apologies for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes. **

I choked. I physically choked on the air I breathe. Damon regarded me with a raised brow and, when my coughing didn't subside, held up my Coke and waited with a patient, casual expression for me to take it and gulp down a couple of mouthfuls.

_Well then._

I tried to remain calm while he watched me, but the truth of the matter is, my kind-of-probably-will-be-in-a-while boyfriend had just announced, cool as a cucumber, that he was searching for a vampire. _A vampire_.

"I'm sorry," I said, folding my hands on the table top and regarding him what I hoped was a steady gaze, "what did you just say?"

"A vampire." He repeated. I nodded, then drained the remainder of my drink.

"Told you," Damon said, smirking at me across the table, "You think I'm crazy."

"Not crazy." I defended. Which was true; crazy didn't even cover it. "I'm intrigued." I lied. I wanted out of this conversation as soon as possible.

He quirked a brow, running his thumb over his bottom lip as he watched me. I could almost see the cogs turning; the internal debate as to whether it was worth trying to explain himself or not. To be honest, I was kind of asking myself the same thing.

"Come on," I said, crossing my arms and swallowing back the urge to turn tail and run. "Talk to me."

He regarded me a little longer before turning darkened blue eyes my way. There was something sad about them; the same thing that'd lingered there since that first phone call in the hospital. I felt the beginnings of dread unfurling in my gut.

"You know, when I told you about my family moving to Chicago, I mentioned that we had...multiple reasons for going?"

I nodded, "One of them was business."

He tipped his head in affirmation and added; "Daddy-dearest owns a company out there, but that's not important. What's important is why my mother had to be there."

I waited out his pause, watching the walls come up behind his eyes. He flashed a steely gaze my way, barricading all emotion from view.

"She's sick." He said, simply.

"What's wrong with her?" I'd found myself asking the question before I could check it. Damon fired an answer back clinically, as though he'd been expecting my query.

"Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome."

I crunched the initials in my head and bit back a gasp.

"Damon..." I began, but he cut me off as though I hadn't spoken.

"She was a doctor at the Hospital." He continued. "She was – her patient was overdosing, she needed to draw blood for testing. He wasn't really...didn't really know what was going on. He panicked and – she needed stitches. Needle tore a nasty gash right up her arm, but it was clean enough to suture closed. Blood test on the patient came back; blood test on Mom came back. Both positive."

I scooted my seat a little, balancing precariously on my one functioning leg, until I was seated beside him. He folded his hands together on the table and took a moment to meet my gaze. When he did, the intensity of the pain there was enough to make _me_ hurt. I gripped his hands in mine and squeezed a silent encouragement.

"There was leading research in Chicago at the time we moved. They were doing all these tests and trials and things were looking up. It was only a few months ago that everything went downhill again." He paused and took a breath. "She got a cold. Common cold. And she ended up in the ICU."

I rubbed his arm. Honestly, I suck at comforting people, but I was trying. Normal procedure involves Disney movies and chocolate, but I figured this was the time for neither.

"That phone call, the first one I took in the hospital? It was dad. He said she's getting worse. They've moved her into one of those bubble-rooms, where you can't go in without a damn hazmat suit."

I nodded. There was a niggle in the back of my mind that this hurt was actually, literally driving him crazy.

"It was a friend of mine that told me about the vampires."

_Here we go._

"Don't roll your eyes," Damon said. I flinched, and raised my gaze to his. "That's a story for another day. Point is, she told me where I could find one, and she said that he'll be able to help."

I obviously didn't do a very good job at hiding my scepticism, if the sag in Damon's shoulders and the look of exasperation were anything to go by. I raised my hands in surrender.

"It just...sounds a little far-fetched to me, that's all." I reasoned gently. That wasn't all; I was freaking out inside my own head. _He's crazy, he's nuts, get help, right now._

"I know, Elena, but it's my last shot."

* * *

It was midnight when the knock sounded from my bedroom window. Damon stood beyond the glass, and, at my wave, lifted the pane and clambered in, bringing with him a gust of warm summer air carrying far too much pollen. I twitched the sent from the end of my nose.

"Morning." He whispered. I smiled my reply and patted the bed beside me. I became very conscious, then, that I was wearing only a strappy tank top and night shorts. I thought hard about the last time I shaved my legs, but shook the worry from my mind. Damon dipped onto the mattress beside me.

"Here." I said, slipping the laptop his way. He settled it on his outstretched legs, opened up Skype, and logged himself in.

After our..._eventful _lunch date, I'd expressed an interest in meeting this friend of his. Webcam was the simplest format we could think of, for the time being.

It took a few tense moments for Damon to find his friend, and a couple more as the call went through. And then I was staring at the face of a reasonably young, black woman, row after row of various liqueurs, liquors, spirits and shorts lining the shelves behind her. She smiled brightly into the camera, and Damon offered a smile in return, but both were met with sad eyes. The woman focused her gaze on me, and her face fell. I thought I saw her pale, and the flash of fear that shot through her dark eyes was unmistakable, but it vanished as quick as it came and she tipped her lips up in a slight smile.

"You must be Elena," She said slowly, waving her acknowledgement. I nodded. "I'm Bree, old family friend. How you holdin' up?" She aimed the softer words at Damon, who shrugged his reply. Bree's eyes flickered to me and she frowned, but shook herself out of it.

"I've been better." Damon said. I slipped a hand onto his knee and squeezed gently. He quirked the corner of his mouth up at me in return.

"So," I said, turning a sickly sweet smile at the skinny little bundle of corruption grinning at me from the laptop screen, "Tell me about these vampires."

* * *

The next morning, I awoke to a perfectly in-tune rendition of Fun's 'Some Nights' (I'm still bitter) and the smiling Tuesday sunshine.

Tuesday.

_Tuesday._

I don't know if I've mentioned this yet, but I _hate_ Tuesday's. I loathe them. They aren't the start of the working week, they aren't the middle, and they aren't the end. They aren't part of the weekend, and they aren't close enough to Friday to be remotely enjoyable.

I hate Tuesdays.

Still, I forced myself out of bed and into the bathroom to complete my usual morning routine, which was drastically elongated because I needed to shower. I'm not going to go into detail, but I will tell you that I fell over. Twice.

Downstairs, I met a sulking Jeremy, with headphones plugged in both ears and a bowl of uneaten cereal lying on the table before him, and a teen-girl version of Aunt Jenna, giggling into her cell phone and suggesting that her conversation partner be the first to hang up. I almost gagged.

"Morning." I called. She jumped, hurried her goodbye, and ended the call, blushing sheepishly at me.

"That was Alaric. Mr. Saltzman."

I nodded knowingly and sat at the breakfast bar. Jeremy stood and slumped out the front door.

"He's still angry then." I stated. Jenna nodded.

"Hasn't said two words to me all morning." She said. I puffed air through my lips and rubbed my forehead. Stressed wasn't the word. And then I remembered something, and I turned a kind smile on Jenna.

"Aunt Jenna," I addressed, linking my fingers together and resting my hands on the table. She 'mhm'ed me. "I uh, I need you to call in sick for me tomorrow."

"Why?" She asked, narrowing her eyes. I debated telling her the truth, but thought better of it, instead settling with;

"With all this stuff with Jeremy and...and everything, I'm feeling kind of down. Damon wants to take me out of town for the night; he's got some old family property up in the woods."

I upheld a pretty little smile while Jenna squinted down her nose at me, then she offered a nod and I replied with a wide grin.

"Thank you!" I said, reaching, as best I could, to hug her. She hugged me back. The moment was sweet, and ruined when Jenna's cell vibrated angrily across the bench, and the name 'Ric' flashed up in bright letters, accompanied by a smiling picture of my form tutor.

When the hell they had time to take pictures, I did not know, but I didn't question it. Jenna squirmed and giggled at the text and tapped out a reply. I rolled my eyes.

"So you'll ring?" I repeated, in case she'd already forgotten our previous conversation. She waved her acknowledgement as she completed the text.

"Come on," She said, "time for school."

* * *

The day passed by uneventfully, and with little word from Damon. But before I knew it, Wednesday morning was greeting me through the half closed curtain and my alarm was blaring tunefully. I stretched an arm out from beneath the covers and found a button that made the sound stop. Jenna had left almost half an hour prior, intent on calling in to school on her way to work to let the office know I wouldn't be in that day. I had a feeling she'd be skipping the middle-man and making her way straight to Mr Saltzman's classroom.

I tugged my hair into a ponytail, washed my face and slapped on a layer of moisturiser. While I continued with my morning toilette, I thought about our conversation with Bree in the early hours of Tuesday morning.

I didn't learn much, and of the things she'd told me, I believed about -19.5% of it. Damon, however, was utterly convinced, and as he'd been there for me during my on-going rough patch, I owed him the same.

So, I'd be spending my day travelling to some undisclosed location with a man I'd known for a matter of weeks to meet a woman who claimed herself to be a witch and preached the existence of vampires.

I was yanked, harshly, and somewhat thankfully, out of my reverie by a loud knock at the front door. Convinced I was wearing all the appropriate clothing in all the appropriate places, I grabbed my crutches and hurried (as much as one can hurry on crutches) down the stairs.

"Morning." Damon said, stepping over the threshold as I opened the door for him.

"Hey." I replied.

He wandered back and forth a couple of times, scanning his eyes over the downstairs portion of the house. Convinced nobody was home, he turned to me and smiled.

"Ready to meet Bree?"

I offered a shaky grin in return, and he rolled his eyes, turning me around and ushering me out the door. I spluttered my annoyance at the gesture, but he just grinned and held open the passenger side door, looking, by all accounts, the perfect gentleman. It was my turn to roll my eyes.

We'd been on the road for about forty-five minutes, chatting mindlessly about everything and nothing, when Damon pulled up into a motel car park along a mostly abandoned stretch of road. I raised an eyebrow his way.

"Bree likes her privacy." Damon said, shrugging.

The ground was parched and the heat hung heavy in the air, soaking my lungs in an entirely uncomfortable warmth. Damon took a deep breath in, too, and I was glad to know the humidity was affecting him as much as it was me.

"Where are we?" I asked, rearranging my crutches against my arms. I could feel myself beginning to sweat.

"Corner of Nothing and Nowhere, Virginia." He replied.

We approached the motel with caution, kicking up dust as we went. I'd never known Virginia to be this hot, this desolate. It was unnerving.

A motion-sensor aircon kicked in when we pushed our way through the doors, and we savoured the cold for a time, while Damon scanned the lobby. A woman who looked to be in her late sixties sat behind the counter, flicking her gaze from the computer screen to us and looking increasingly more uncomfortable the longer we stood there doing nothing. Other than that, though, the area was deserted. We stepped away from the door, and the fan went off. The heat began to build moments later.

"Where is she." Damon muttered to himself. We crossed the lobby, avoiding the main desk, and settled in a pair of vinyl chairs, hugged together in close quarters against a back wall.

"What time did she say we had to be here for?" I asked. Damon pulled his phone from his pocket, glanced at the clock in the top corner, and said;

"Now. Ish."

We settled in a comfortable silence, only made uncomfortable by the odd throat-clearings of the lady behind the counter. I could feel the air humming in the room, and a droplet of sweat trickled down my back.

Then, the elevator door pinged open, and Bree stepped into the lobby, casting her eyes around the room. Damon waved a hand, and she gestured for us to follow her.

The inside of the elevator was blissfully cold, and we made small-talk as we rode up to whatever floor Bree had pressed the button for, which mostly consisted of Damon and Bree conversing, and me listening and wondering how someone who seemed so nice could be so crazy.

On the fourth floor, the rickety old elevator ground to a halt and we stepped out. Bree lead us down a corridor (one that was not, much like the rest of the building, air-conditioned) and into the room I assumed she was staying in. Once the door was firmly closed behind us, Bree spoke.

"Afternoon." She greeted with a smile. Damon smiled back, and the two exchange a hug. I stood back awkwardly, watching the interaction and feeling only a twinge of jealousy.

"Alright," She said, pulling out a chair and sitting at the kitchen counter, "let's talk vampires."

**A/N: Another cliff-hanger, I know...but I need to think the conversation through properly before I write that scene, and it's been long enough since I updated! **

**I'm planning on introducing three characters soon (not including Stefan, even though I really do need to bring him in at some point), and I will give you brownie points for guessing who they are. And by brownie points I mean, leave me your tumblr url or twitter name and I'll follow you if you're right. **

**So, fingers crossed I'll get a new chapter out soon :) thank's for the patience guys! **

**Much love, **

**Someone x **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: well...I hope none of you did hold your breath! It took a lot longer than planned to get this done, mainly because my laptop charger broke so I had to order a new one, and until that arrived I couldn't do anything. But it came today, so here you go! I love you all for being so patient. **

**On a side note – yes, I upped the rating. I hadn't originally planned it like this, but the story will be going to some pretty dark places. Not to mention, I'm keeping an open mind with regards to a little Delena kink in this one. I've never written smut before, so we'll see if that ever happens. **

**Disclaimer; I own nooothing. **

**Apologies for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes. **

"What do you want to know?" Bree asked, crossing her legs one over the other and settling back in her chair. I squirmed in my seat and lifted my eyes to Damon; honestly, I wanted to know if she was, or ever had been, certifiably insane. Bree met my eyes with a cold expression, and she, too, shifted a little uncomfortably. Damon seemed oblivious to her discomfort, but he offered me a look that expressed his concern at mine.

"I'd like some proof." I said finally. Bree raised a brow my way. Out the corner of my eye, I saw Damon do the same.

"Of what?"

"You say you're a...a..." I fumbled the word around in my mouth for a while, but it was far too ridiculous for me to say out loud. I felt sweat trickle down my spine, whether from the heat, or from nerves, I didn't know.

"A witch?" Bree said. I winced, but nodded. "Mhm." Bree hummed, smiling a tight-lipped grin my way.

"Prove it." I said, my voice conveying a confidence I most certainly didn't possess.

A flame erupted on the wick of a candle to my right and I jumped, whipping my head to glance at the offending object. It was an unnaturally long flame, radiating too much heat for such a small candle. I cast a concerned glance Damon's way, but he seemed unphased. Evidently this was a show he'd seen before.

A second candle lit, and a third, and soon every candle around the room was aflame, ducking and diving against a breeze that seemed incredibly out of place in a room with no obvious airflow.

"Okay," I yielded in a shaky tone, "okay, I get it. Stop."

Bree did, the candles extinguishing as one, and the room once again returned to its stifling stillness. I let out a shaky breath. Damon smiled my way, the kind of shit-eating grin that perfectly expresses the sentiment: _I told you so._

"Proof enough?" Bree said, a harsh, snide undertone to the words. I nodded my head. Why she was being so cold to me, I had no idea, but I didn't appreciate it in the slightest. Her eyes travelled down my neck and over my wrists, all the way across my fingers. I folded my arms across my chest, burying my fingers from her prying view. The way her eyes glided over me made me increasingly uncomfortable. It seemed, very much, like she was looking for something, but I couldn't for the life of me think what she might find.

"Bree." Damon said. Both she and I turned our gazes to him, where he sat, lounging, one arm hooked over the chair back. "Show her those book things you showed me."

Bree got to her feet and wandered through to another room, where we heard the distinctive sound of paper shifting over paper. It made my skin crawl.

"You've seen this stuff before?" I asked him, tugging the tips of my ponytail over my shoulder and yanking hard enough to hurt.

"Well, yeah," he said, as though I was stupid for insinuating he might not have, "I was just as sceptical as you when Bree first mentioned it." He leaned close to me and pried my fingers from the ends of my hair, running his thumb over them soothingly. "I thought she was bat-shit crazy, but the things she told me..."

"You clearly came around." I reasoned, more with myself than with him. Whatever Bree had must have been good.

"Here," she said, re-entering the room and laying something on the counter before us.

The 'something' she'd brought through was a book; hand-written, worn with age and over-use, battered beyond repair. It looked very much like an antique journal. Damon gestured for me to open it. With shaking hands, I lifted the cover back and somewhat-eagerly began reading the words on the first page.

And here, I encountered the 800th problem of the morning.

"It's...not in English."

"The early entries are in Latin." Bree said. I gave her a bewildered look;

"You expect me to read _Latin_?"

The expression she returned told me that yes, she did expect me to read Latin. I turned away, rolling my eyes, and skipped ahead until I began spotting words I recognised. While some passages were still written in the dead language, English phrases jumped out at me here and there. And yes, some of them mentioned our Word Of The Day; Vampires.

"How..." My mouth dried as I read entry after entry after entry buffering the word 'vampire' at me from every side.

Descriptions.

Mythology.

Folklore.

Legend.

Truth.

One illustration showed a man with shaggy hair, sharp, protruding teeth, and eyes with what looked like wrinkles surrounding them from all sides. The eyeballs themselves were coloured in black.

I slammed the book closed and turned away in my chair, blinking rapidly and trying to breathe in a somewhat normal rhythm. My head throbbed painfully behind my eyes and blood rushed in my ears, as though my body was trying to forcibly remove what I'd read and witnessed from my memory.

"How do you know this is real?"

"I've seen vampires." Bree said, and the look she shot me made fear clench in my gut. I just nodded, no longer sure I wanted to question her.

They were just entries in a journal, and I knew that, but there's something eerie about the dynamic nature of it all; the entries spanned over centuries and things changed here and there, folklore was refuted and alternatives provided, but the general premise remained the same. They were there, and had been for a damn long time.

"Could I get some water please, Bree?" I asked. The words tumbled out haphazardly, not at all in the way my brain had suggested I say them. Bree nodded once and walked somewhere behind me. I heard the distinct sound of liquid running over glass, a cap being returned to a bottle, and a bottle being returned to the fridge. It was peaceful, methodical. That is, until the explosion of shattering glass erupted in the stillness.

Bree swore, and Damon and I both turned her way to see her scooping broken glass from the floor with one hand, the other cradled against her stomach.

"Here, let me help." Damon offered, hopping from his seat and bending down to pick up the rest of the pieces.

"You're bleeding." I say quietly, gesturing to the immobilised hand against her abdomen. She lifted it away and let some of the blood drop to the floor. Her eyes drifted up to me and she scanned my face closely, keeping the bloodied hand well within my sights. I felt my gut roll, and remembered the distinctive feel of blood oozing across my scalp. I could smell it, a strong, metallic tang that filled my nostrils and powered home a parade of memories that forced a tremor from beneath my tongue. I closed my eyes and dragged a deep breath in through my mouth.

"'Lena?" Damon's voice weaved in through the impending dizziness and I opened my eyes to meet his, where he stood wrapping the broken glass in newspaper. "You okay?"

I gave a feeble nod.

"Sick." Was all I said, afraid I'd gag if I kept my mouth open too long.

"Not a fan of blood?" Bree asked, something that could have been humour, or could have been scepticism, lacing her tone. I shook my head.

"Why don't you go get cleaned up, Bree?" Damon suggested, pouring another glass of water. Bree nodded and took her leave, heading for what I assumed was the bathroom.

"Here," Damon said, slipping the fresh glass onto the counter before me. I was thirsty; parched, even, but it took a lot of will-power for me to lift the glass to my lips to sip from it.

"Better?" He asked. I nodded and grimaced;

"Just...bad memories." I replied. Damon nodded his understanding and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, before pulling gently on the tip of my ponytail. I smiled despite myself, and pulled the locks free from his grip.

"I'm fine." I assured without prompt. He pursed his lips and nodded; a gesture that told me he didn't believe me one single iota. I mentally braced myself for the car journey home. Damon could be a persistent little ass when he wanted to be.

He gave me a soft look, one I hadn't seen in a while now, not since that first phone call in the hospital when his whole world tipped upside down, and it was enough to knock the wind out of my lungs. I flashed him a smile that, for the first time in a while, genuinely reached my eyes, and he melted into it, mirroring it in his own gaze.

If I'd been watching the interaction as a bystander, I probably would have gagged at the sappiness. As it happens, though, I wasn't, so Bree's make-shift apartment was, thankfully, a gag-free zone.

Speaking of;

"Sorry about that," Bree said, drifting in from the bathroom, "now where were we?"

"I have some questions." I said, sitting up straight and squaring my shoulders, my mouth setting in a thin line.

"Ask away." Bree replied.

"Where did they come from?" I asked, "the Vampires?"

"The first recorded sightings I have in here," she said, opening the journal and turning to the front page, "is from the 1400's, but I've seen evidence dating back to the 10th century. And as for where? Right here in America."

"10th century? So they just kind of...came out of nowhere?"

"There's a legend, but I can't remember the details." Bree said. "All I know is, your boy Elijah," she gave Damon a pointed look, "Is one of _them_. The Originals."

"The Originals?" I asked, although from the look I recieved from Bree I guessed the name was pretty damn self-explanatory.

"The first Vampires. Nasty bunch, you don't wanna mess with them, if you can help it." Again, she shot her gaze to Damon. He blinked at her, and lifted the edge of his mouth in a smirk that portrayed not a single ounce of humour.

"I can look after myself, Bree."

"Mhm." She hummed, a disbelieving lilt to her tone. Damon offered a well-practiced eye roll, but there was an anger reflected in the move that I didn't quite understand.

I could feel a horrible kind of tension building between the two; the kind of tension that fills a room when an old argument resurfaces, and every occupant waits with bated breath in hopes that whatever comment made will be laughed off, and the conversation will continue as normal.

Bree and Damon stared one another off, the corner of Damon's lip curling, almost imperceptibly, into a barely guarded snarl.

I slumped back in my seat and sighed, settling in for what was bound to be a very uncomfortable afternoon.

* * *

_The world felt off-kilter, and it rocked back and forth around me as though it were trying to right itself somehow, to settle. _

_I let my eyes drift open, tried to ignore the pain clinging to every part of my body. Darkness danced at the edges of my vision but I fought it back, twisting my head, agonisingly, from side to side. Something warm, sticky, metallic was pooling towards me, and soft whimpers invaded my ears. _

_Boots clicked over crushed glass somewhere nearby; the sound grew closer and closer and the whimpers turned to screams. _

_It wasn't as dark, this time. Flat, thin light poured in and I could make out shapes around me. Crushed metal, torn fabric, plastic, glass, blood. _

_Heels clip-clopped closer, a slow, confident rhythm and I felt blood run cold in my veins. _

"_Help me! Oh, God, help me, please!" The voice sobbed, and my chest ached as I recognised the sorry tone. _

"_Mom!" I tried to shout, tried to scream for her, too, but no sound fell from my lips. I braced myself for what I knew was to come; any minute now the front of the car would moan and creak and drop and silence her forever. _

_But before it did, she would cry again. _

"_Help me! Please, oh my god!" _

_The tap-tapping stopped beside her, and through my window I could see expensive designer heels wading in a noxious mix of rain water, oil and blood. _

_A blood curdling scream ripped its way from my mother's throat, and she thrashed in her seat. The metal groaned fiercely in protest. _

"_No, please!" She screamed; begged the new comer. _

_The metal hissed and creaked under some new weight, as though something was pushing on the roof of the car. The heels braced themselves hard against the ground, and I saw muscles flex beneath skin-tight jeans. The front of the car creaked, I heard the metal grind and felt it shudder around me and then..._

_Silence. _

_Everything stopped. _

_I sobbed to myself, upside down in the back seat, watching fresh blood seep out from under the newly crushed metal. And then the feet moved again. They crunched over fresh glass, came to a stop by my window. A knee appeared against the wet, bloodied ground. And another. Hands braced themselves on the floor beside me. Long, curled, brown hair tumbled close to the ground. And a face, with blackened veins crawling up underneath blood-red eyes, and a pair of sharp, long fangs grinning at me through the darkness. _

_And that face, _

_It very much belonged to me. _

I awoke with a scream that had Damon flinching.

We were back in Mystic Falls, by now; I recognised signs and places beyond the darkened windows. Night had fallen somewhere between leaving the motel and me scaring the living crap out of Damon with my crying.

Shivers gripped my frame, so hard that Damon felt it necessary to pull the car over and run around to my side, throwing open the door and cupping my chattering jaw in both hands.

"It was just a dream, Elena." He soothed gently, thumbs brushing the skin beneath them, "just a bad dream. It's okay, you're okay."

I was anything but okay.

It took him almost an hour to calm me, and by that time what little light that had remained vanished, surrendering to blackness. Damon had settled on the ground beside my chair, squeezing my hand and listening to me explain my dream in stutters and gulps and floods of tears that I couldn't have controlled if I'd tried.

"It's just your mind trying to process everything Bree told you, 'Lena." He said after a time, stroking my pale knuckles with his thumb. "I had nightmares for weeks after she told me."

"But why that dream?" I sobbed, "Why the same _damn_ dream?" I took in shaky, heavy breaths. The oxygen supply in the car, even with the open door, seemed very, very low.

"I don't know." Damon replied honestly. He ghosted his lips over my knuckles and whispered another 'it'll be okay' against them.

"I just want it to stop." I cried, feeling my face crumble under the weight of it all. "Damon, I just want it all to stop."

Before I really knew what had happened I was engulfed in him. He'd edged himself onto the seat and lifted me into his lap, arms circled around my fragile frame, his face pressed deep into my hair, mouth by my ear. He whispered soft 'I know, I know's against my scalp as I sobbed into the soft cotton of his shirt.

* * *

By the time Damon pulled up outside my house, it was approaching midnight.

"Sorry about your shirt." I said lamely, after the silence stretched on for entirely too long.

"So you should be," Damon replied, killing the engine. "This is John Varvatos, expensive stuff."

I laughed at his ass-hatt-ery and opened the car door, easing myself out and stretching to grab my crutches from the back seat. Damon helped me balance while I arranged myself, and together we walked up onto the porch.

"So," Damon said, slipping his hands into his jean pockets, "Still think I'm stir-crazy?"

"Mmm, I have my doubts." I smirked up at him, "But, you know, even if you are a little nuts...I'm stuck with you anyway."

"Yes you are." Damon said, smug, and as though by reflex, leaned in close to me, his face mere centimetres from my own. I felt the smile fall from my face as my eyes drifted down to his lips. So, so very close to mine. I could lean forward, just a little bit, and...

"Yes you are." Damon repeated on a whisper, before turning his head and pressing a kiss to my cheek. I let my eyes drift shut and savoured the feeling. He pulled back, his very-blue eyes searching my own, as though scanning for any single strands of doubt. I hoped he found none.

"Goodnight, Elena." He breathed, before flashing me a smile and retreating to his car.

I opened the door to the house, one hand grazing the tingling expanse of skin his lips had brushed on my cheek, and stepped half-way in, before twisting on the spot to return a quiet,

"Goodnight, Damon."

**A/N: There you have it! New chapter, how amazing. **

**Now, do we really think Elena's little nightmare was **_**really**_** just her minds way of processing? Hmm? I'm saying nothing yet. Stay tuned to find out more!**

**I'll try and update as soon as, but you know me, that probably means in another like year or so. **

**Drop me a review and let me know what you thought. **

**Thanks in advance! **

**Much love, **

**Someone x **


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